Harry Potter and the Mistaken Identity
by Alex the Anachronistic
Summary: My version of Book 7. Sirius makes his return to life. HGRW, SSOC, HPGW. A lot of plot holes and missing chapters. I'm never going to finish this. My first real HP fanfiction, didn't post it all for years after I abandoned it.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I am making no money off of this, and this site isn't either. This is purely fan-fiction written by a weird person who has absolutely nothing better to do than write this stuff. I don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, etc. J.K.R. does. But I do have some of my own original characters in here. Please don't take these! However, if you do, I can't see what I can do about it. Just refrain, please?

Harry Potter and the Mistaken Identity

Chapter 1

Minerva McGonagall was talking seriously with Pomona Sprout. It was a few weeks after term had ended so disastrously with Dumbledore's death. They were not at Hogwarts; no indeed, for it was a holiday, after all. McGonagall and Sprout had met by chance in the Kew Gardens of Muggle London. Minerva looked slightly odd in her neat Muggle dress, and Pomona looked even odder in her Scottish kilt with fish-net stockings, high stiletto heels, and a grey cotton sweater that read 'Minnesota, Land of a Thousand Lakes.' Oblivious to the stares of several passers-by,they walked and talked with two ice-cream bars out of the gardens.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage these things without bowls or cups to catch the drips." murmured Minerva, shaking the drips from her ice cream onto the pavement. Pomona didn't answer, but was licking a drip before it reached her fingers. After a while, Minerva gave up on hers and presented it to a small boy sitting on the side of the street, who was dumbfounded that someone should just happen to give him a nearly-intact ice cream bar. He ran off happily with it.

For a while, the pair talked of trivial things; of the weather, of their health, of what was happening in the Muggle world. Soon, though, Minerva abruptly brought about the subject of Hogwarts, and of the flight of Professor Snape.

"I should never have thought that Severus…Severus…of all people. I knew he was an unhappy man who found chief interest and enjoyment in taking out his feelings on others, but I always thought he was…well…trustworthy. I never, ever, would have considered for a moment that he would be truly on He-who-must-not-be-named's side. And I never thought that Albus would ever make such a foolish mistake as to trust someone who was not trustworthy."

"I feel very badly about it, especially since I taught Snape." replied Pomona.

"I understand. I taught him too." Minerva sighed. "Just as teachers can be pleased when their students go on to greater and better things, they can be disappointed when they run amuck." she noted philosophically. "I suppose there was nothing in reality to do with him. He had a great deal of potential; he just used it in the wrong way. But how terrible it is that we should have lost such a supple mind to such an unworthy cause."

"Most definitely unworthy," echoed Pomona.

She continued, "You will be Headmistress now, if I am correct?"

McGonagall nodded. "It was determined long ago that I should be the next head of Hogwarts if and when anything ever happened to Albus. That is, if the school reopens."

"Don't tell me you're seriously considering not reopening it this year?" cried Pomona. McGonagall nodded.

"As much as I want it to remain open, there remains the doubt that students will come." Pomona shook her head.

"We already discussed this Minerva, even if only one single student wants to come to Hogwarts, we are going to remain open even for that one single student." Minerva bit her lip, then nodded. She knew all too well that arguing with Pomona over this point would be fruitless. However, it was not by her wish that Hogwarts might close--it would be necessity only. Sadly, Minerva took her leave of Pomona, and hurried about on her business.

-------------------------------------

Draco Malfoy carried wood, without magic, to a small cooking fire in the middle of the Amazon forest. Narcissa Malfoy, his mother, stirred tediously a cauldron of something that didn't smell very nice over the fire pit. Draco approached, wrinkling his nose.

"What's that supposed to be?" he queried haughtily, peering into the pot.

"Supper." declared his mother weakly, and she sighed as she doled out a large portion that looked like something that might have come off of Hagrid's stove using a ladle made of a tin can attached to a stick with wire. She handed Draco a steaming bowl and then served one for herself. "You might want to wait a moment before you drink it; it's boiling hot." Draco sat down on a log and reluctantly placed the bowl next to him. His gaze left it for but a few seconds, but when he looked back at the murky brown substance in the bottom of the bowl, it had attracted at least seven bugs. One or two beetles had fallen in and were drowning. The others crawled unappetizingly around the rim.

"Eww!" he exclaimed, picking them off. Narcissa watched the proceedings with distaste, and was careful not to set her stew down.

The Malfoys had come here, to the remotest of places, by Snape's suggestion, after the disaster at Hogwarts. He confiscated their wands and forbid them to use magic for anything, to prevent them from being tracked by the Ministry. Or Voldemort, for that matter. Snape came to check on them once a month with supplies. He flew in on a broom, so he couldn't bring enough food for an entire month. So, they had had to live off the land for the entire summer, with no magic, like Muggles. And there was no telling when he would deem it safe for them to sneak back to England.

Narcissa had never had to cook in her life for an abundance of house-elves, so even her wand would not have improved her cooking. But then, she had never had to do any sort of housekeeping besides managing the elves, which she realized was nothing compared to doing it all herself. Also, without magic for little things, like pouring out soup, she had to use her imagination and create a solution. Really, the amount of brainpower and ingenuity she had used to create their little camp in the middle of the forest was enough to make Einstein jealous. The ladle, for instance, was constructed by her. The shelter made of palm leaves and branches she had designed and built performed better than the canvass Snape had brought to make a tent. Narcissa had even come up with extraordinary ways to do her hair with only what came off the trees. And scavenging for food was always an adventure.

Standard meal times had been completely abandoned. When they were hungry, they ate. If they were hungry and had no food, they went out in search of it. It wasn't as though they were on a barren island, so it was fairly easy to catch birds, fish, frogs, snakes, lizards, and boar for meat, and find exotic fruits and roots. They had even found how to make a sort of hot chocolate drink from the cocoa tree. Well, whatever was edible, Narcissa threw together into a meal.

Snape had intimated that many things in the forest were edible, but that a great many others were not. So before they ever tried anything new, they tried to feed it to a sort of vulture-like bird they had caught. If it did not eat what was presented to it, they didn't eat it. If the bird ate it and produced no ill side effects, then they ate it. This method had prevented them numerous times from eating poisonous frogs, snakes, and fruit they had gathered. But although there was plenty of food around them, they looked forward to every month when Snape came with his broom-load of provisions.

"When'll Snape be back with fresh supplies?" Draco asked.

"Sometime in the next week," replied his mother consolingly.

"That's what you said last week!"

"I know, Draco, I know."

"Why hasn't he sent an owl or something? Why haven't you written to him?"

"I've tried sending one of these toucans, and received no answer."

"Do you think something happened to him?"

"It's possible."

"Perhaps the Dark Lord is punishing him because he found out I…" here Draco trailed off, and buried his head in his hands exasperatedly.

"I doubt it."

Suddenly, Draco jumped up as scared as though he had noticed his hair was on fire and feverishly ripped off his shirt. He began to jump up and down like a rabbit.

"Mum, there's a spider on my back! Swat it or something!"

In reply, Narcissa yanked off her high-heeled shoe and began to seemingly beat Draco, in reality trying to kill the spider. Finally she succeeded in smashing it, but not after marring her son's back with some perfectly frightful bruises.

"Mum, I think it bit me."

"Serves you right for jumping about like that."

"What if it was a yellow banana spider?" wailed Draco. "I'll die!"

"Don't be silly, boy, if it was a yellow banana spider, you'd be dead already."

Draco looked like he was about to give a saucy reply, but suddenly, his face grew contorted and purple, and he fell forward onto the ground, still.

"Draco!" screamed Narcissa. Was her son, in efforts to protect him from the fury of the world's most powerful evil-minded wizard, only to die of a spider bite in the Amazon? Narcissa knelt down and turned him over. It was not a difficult task, for the months of living out there on his mother's cooking and his continual worrying had lessened Draco's physique to the slightest in the extreme.

When she turned him over, though, there was a silly, mischievous grin on his face. He sat up of his own accord.

"You naughty, naughty boy!" cried Narcissa, angry, but relieved.

"I'm no boy anymore; I'm completely of age now."

"Well, still, it was not fair on your poor mother to play such a mean trick!"

"Sorry mum; I couldn't resist the temptation. It's been deadly dull."

"That's easy for you to say. Now drink your soup."

"All of it?" whined Draco.

"All of it," declared Narcissa, "or I'll force-feed it to you. You're skinny as a rail and that isn't healthy."

Draco stirred the soup with his forefinger. "What's in this?"

"I won't tell you because you were so nasty. Now drink it!"

Draco picked more beetles out of his soup and obediently drained the bowl in two immense gulps. He briefly turned a sickly pale green, but made no other complaint.

-------------------------------------

Far away from where Draco and Narcissa feasted on their _delicious_ repast, Harry lay unanimated on his bed, staring at the digital alarm clock beside his desk lamp. He was counting down the minutes from 11:55 to 12:00 aloud, but his lips were barely moving as he whispered.

"Five more minutes to go…four and fifty-five, four and fifty four, four and fifty-three, four and fifty two…"

Finally, but tediously, the clock reached 12:00 pm, and the beeping alarm went off. With a whoop, Harry jumped off the bed, grabbed up his already-packed travelling trunk, and ran down the stairs two at a time. For, you see, now he was of age. Now he no longer needed to follow Dumbledore's last instructions to him, which had been to live with the Dursley's until he came of age. Being with the Dursley's would not keep him safe anymore, though, so Harry was leaving.

Harry slid down the banisters, his excitement was so great. As he approached the front door to leave, though, he caught sight of the super-extremely accurate cable clock on top of the TV. It still read 11:57. Crestfallen, Harry sank down on the sofa. He had no right to leave until midnight, when he turned 17. After spending thirty seconds staring at the clock, Harry decided to write a short note of explanation to post on the TV. There they would surely notice it, because the first thing half-asleep Uncle Vernon did when he woke up in the morning was come downstairs and flick it on to watch the morning news. So Harry stealthily crept into the kitchen, pulled a pen from the holder by the phone and a sticky, bright-orange Post-It note from the drawer, and began to write.

_Dear Dursley's:_

_Guess what? Today's my birthday; now I'm of age, 17. And good news for both me and you--I'm gone. I don't think I'll ever be coming back, either. Hope you enjoy your 'normal' lives without me. So thanks for everything, and GOOD RIDDANCE!_

_Harry Potter _

He had to laugh as he placed it in the smack middle of the TV screen. He wouldn't be surprised if, when they discovered the note, they had a private party to celebrate his departure. Now the clock read 12:02. Disgusted that he had spent two extra minutes in that house just writing a letter, Harry dashed out the door, almost forgetting to come back for his trunk.

Harry walked leisurely down Privet Drive, his trunk trailing behind him. Pretty soon, the Knight Bus would come rolling around, and he would board and go to Daigon Alley. From there, he could go to Fred and George's joke shop, and eventually from there to the Burrow. This was the plan he had set up with the Weasleys before leaving for the summer holidays. However, had Harry wanted to, he could have gone anywhere he desired, and no one could, by law, rightfully reprimand him for it. He was of age. With a content sigh, he decided that it was a good thing, even if he was more vulnerable than ever to Voldemort.

Without further ado, Harry made it to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was still dark out, but he knew that Fred and George lived on the premises. Besides, they were expecting him. Harry lugged his trunk up to the front door and pulled the bell. After waiting some minutes, a light shone through the window, and George's eye looked through the peephole.

"Who's there?" came a muffled voice from within.

"Duh, it's Harry!" replied another voice. But although the voices were muffled through the door, Harry could tell neither came from Fred or George, but that both were good imitations. Behind his back, he slipped his wand into his right sleeve. Nothing, however, seemed to be happening.

"Well, let him in!" demanded the first voice. Harry was now completely on his guard.

"First give me the arranged password." Harry knew that if these people were not Fred and George, they would know there was no password. But in case one of these people was Snape, who was, of course, a superb Occulmens, he could delve into Harry's brain and find out this. So Harry thought of the most absurd thing he could think of--radish bones. If Snape was behind the door, he would soon say…

"Radish Bones." stated the voice clearly and concisely. Harry nodded, his worst fears confirmed. Two death-eaters were behind this door, masquerading as Fred and George, to get him. Inwardly, he braced himself for an unexpected move from the enemy.

"Now you ask me." Harry was completely on his guard.

"Ok…what's your cousin's name?"

"That's not the arranged question" lied Harry.

"Well…I've forgotten the old one." parried the voice.

"Oh well, that's fine. He's Dudley." answered Harry, gripping his wand.

"Wonderful. Open the door, George!" And at that, the door began to swing open. Harry was ready before they were.

"_Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!" _

Two wands flew into the air; one of black ebony, the other of maple. Harry caught them as they passed him. Now triply armed, he pointed his wand at the Death Eaters. The one like Fred was quivering and trembling slightly, the one like George was calm and austere. Harry glared at the latter.

"Give it up, Snape. Who's the other?"

The silky, familiar voice of Severus Snape answered him from George's body. This was extremely weird.

"Good work, Potter. I can't tell how you managed to overtake us, but you seem to have succeeded in doing so." 'George' smiled ruthlessly, showing that he was speaking in sarcasm.

Harry's hatred rose up.

"So you still like to criticize me even when I'm about to kill you? You're pathetic."

Snape-George looked sagely into Harry's eye, never flailing.

"But _are_ you about to kill me, Potter?" By his look, Snape was also conveying to Harry, _"By God, YOU'RE pathetic!"_

"Yes, after you have answered a few questions." Harry tried to keep his calm. Snape looked amused.

"Why don't you kill me now?"

"Because…hey wait a moment." Harry had realized that this conversation was taking a rather familiar turn.

"You're using the same tactics Dumbledore used on Draco up in the tower that night."

"A wise man, Dumbledore," nodded the other Death Eater, quivering. Snape looked confused.

"You were…you weren't…up there the whole time?"

"Yes, I was. I saw the whole thing." Harry was trembling with rage.

"Under your damned invisibility cloak."

"Yes."

"Right." Snape seemed to be less amused and more disturbed.

"So, why didn't you do anything?"

"You mean," Harry asked, "When you killed Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of our time, a worthy man and friend, the best headmaster Hogwarts has ever had? Can you possibly stand there and look at me and think that if I were able to do anything, I _wouldn't?_ He froze me, when Draco burst up into the tower, in order to protect me, and I could…not…do…anything..." Here Harry's voice began to grow tight with suppressed agony. Instead of saying anything else, he just glared at the pair. Soon, though, he recovered himself, and swallowed.

Snape did not seem to notice, however. Instead, he was busy mumbling to himself under his breath, "Why in the world did he not tell…"

"Where are the real Fred and George?" Harry demanded loudly, interrupting Snape's train of thought. "What have you done with them?"

Snape looked at the ceiling. At that moment, a fierce pounding noise broke out above them.

"Did you tie them up well, Dobbins?" he asked, addressing the other Death Eater.

"As well as I possibly could, sir," replied the still shivering Dobbins. The pounding ceased, and Harry turned his attention back to the Death Eaters.

"You aren't going to get away with this, Snape," he pronounced, trying to sound cooler and more collected than he felt.

"I don't doubt it," mused the tall Death Eater sarcastically in reply. Harry was irked by the fact that Snape was still not treating the situation as serious as it was. It was almost as though Snape knew that he held the trump card; that he would find some way to escape Harry's wrath.

Angered at this implied opinion of lack of competence, Harry spat out, for little reason more than to annoy, "You cowardly fiend!"

Snape sneered back at him. This was more like the old Snape Harry remembered. Or, rather, like the Snape from the last day of school.

"Don't" he hissed, "call ME a COWARD!"

"Sheesh, keep your hair on! Or rather," Harry added disgustedly, "_George's_ hair on." He looked at Snape and repeated, "Coward." His enemy looked as though it was taking great restraining skills to hold himself from going at Harry's throat. Savouring the moment, Harry began to slowly circle Snape, slowly and never letting his glance avert. With each step, he murmured again and again, "Coward. Coward. Coward. Coward." The look on Snape's face was delicious to Harry's angry eyes. Suddenly, though, something seemed to alarm the other, and Snape began to stare at something, either imaginary or real, behind Harry.

"I'm not going to fall for so old a trick as that, my friend," Harry cooed. He looked and felt like an evil villain such as Professor Moriaty, or Colonel Moran, from Sherlock Holmes, a book he had found in Dudley's second bedroom and read earlier that summer. But Snape continued to stare, perhaps in one feeble hope that Harry would, overcome with curiosity, look.

"Harry! Are you all right?" Harry, startled, spun around, only to see that Snape hadn't been purporting a ruse the entire time. In the doorjamb stood the Weasley twins, cut free from their ropes, and armed with wands. (George still trailed a length of rope still tied to his foot, but uncut from any anchor.) However, the brief second that Harry took to observe them and reply, "Yes," was too much. With a deft sweep of his foot, Snape knocked Dobbins off his feet as a diversion and raced out the door with a great leap and a bound.

"Blimey, what 'ed have for breakfast?" asked George wonderingly. Without a word, Harry tossed Dobbins' and Snape's wands to him and took off out the door after Snape.

"Hey wait a minute, I'm coming too!" called Fred, and added to George, "Don't let HIM get away," referring to the quivering Dobbins. Then he raced out after Harry.

Despite the fact that Snape had scarcely any head start, Harry and Fred had a hard time catching up to him. Whenever they thought they had a glimpse of him, it was either a shadow or a trick of the eye. Though they were exhausted from running and chasing, it seemed as though their quarry was not. This was odd in itself, since Snape was on the younger side of middle-aged, and his build, though light, was not in very good physical training. The boys, young and athletic, should have been able to keep up with him, but he had seemed to disappear into thin air, impossible without aid of a wand. They searched the desolate streets, finding no more of him than a ring of keys that belonged to George. And, at any rate, the only signs of life in Daigon Alley that Harry and Fred found was a barefoot drunk vagabond snoring loudly in a cardboard box and a few mice. Crestfallen and angry that the nefarious criminal had gotten away, Harry and Fred went back to the store, where they SECURELY bound and gagged the Death-Eater Dobbins and dragged him off to the ministry offices. They returned just as dawn was breaking, and, somewhat tired, they disapparated to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley greeted them warmly with a pot of tea and warm muffins for an early breakfast, then sent the lot of them to go take a nap.


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: I am making no money off of this, and this site isn't either. This is purely fan-fiction written by a weird person who has absolutely nothing better to do than write this stuff. I don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, etc. J.K.R. does. But I do have some of my own original characters in here. Please don't take these! However, if you do, I can't see what I can do about it. Just refrain, please?

Harry Potter and the Mistaken Identity

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A week later, the odd clock on the wall of the Burrow chimed as Ron and Ginny's pictures swivelled around from 'Travelling' to 'Mortal Peril.' In close pursuit came two newly added pictures of Hermione and Harry, stopping also at 'Home.' Mrs. Weasley smiled as the back door opened and shut with a bang, and resumed her knitting.

"Mum, we're back!" The familiar voice of Ron echoed into the living room. Four pairs of heavy-clogged feet clumped across the clean floor. Mrs. Weasley vaguely suspected that their shoes were not clean on their soles, and that the four was making a mess on her freshly-cleaned floor.

"Leave your shoes outside!" she called into the kitchen. The footsteps stopped, paused, then resumed much more softly as each of the four removed their clogs and padded, stocking-footed, to the door.

The door opened softly and several dull thuds resounded as shoes toppled down the steps, possibly into the patch of fennel beside the stoop.

"Neatly, Ron!" reprimanded a strict Hermione, and Ron muttered,

"Aww, shucks!" but condescended to the task. Mrs. Weasley smiled again as she thought what a nice housewife Miss Granger would make for her future husband. Everything in _her_ home, she was sure, would be neat, orderly, and disciplined (except her unfortunately unruly hair!) And with cleanliness comes happiness, or such was Mrs. Weasley's opinion. She sighed contentedly and let her thoughts wander on to other, more important matters, such as what to cook for supper, whether or not to serve the plum cake in the larder for tea, and if Evelyn Horsemason would invite her to host the weekly 'Knitters-Tatters' meeting next Thursday.

But Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry, all of whom had just now returned from a peaceful morning on the moors (thus the heavy clogs) with a picnic lunch and Quidditch practice, were preoccupied with much different thoughts. It was their last three weeks of summer vacation. One evening not very far from now they would be packing and making the final arrangements before they left for the train to Hogwart's early the next morning, to begin their seventh and last term (with the exception of Ginny, who was beginning her sixth). Harry and Ron had spent two weeks in Hermione's residence in the Muggle world, to the positive delight of her parents, and then Ron invited Hermione and Harry over to his home in the wizard world for the remaining two weeks before term began. Harry felt slightly guilty that he hadn't any place to invite his friends to (4 Privet Drive didn't count.)

Now the four were discussing what they might experience this year. Hermione excitedly chatted about new charms she hoped (or rather, knew) they would learn this year. Ron moaned woefully that he would need all the help she could give him in order to pass on his apparating test this year. For himself, Harry wondered if he would even be going back to school this year. Perhaps this was wisest of all, because none of the owls bearing their admittance letters had arrived yet.

"You know," remarked Ginny suddenly, addressing her brother and Harry, "I'd like to see you two stay out of trouble this year. I betcha can't. You seem to be addicted to it!"

"Addicted my foot!" declared Ron vehemently. With a reckless note in his voice, he continued, "I'll bet you ten gold galleons we'll stay completely clear of trouble this year!" (Harry added, "Besides, I never go looking for trouble; it always finds me!" but Ginny didn't notice.)

With a shy grin Ginny shook her head knowledgably. "Keep your money, Ron. I know you can put it to better use elsewhere. Besides," she giggled, "I don't even think you have GOT ten galleons!" Ginny dashed up the stairs, leaving a fuming brother behind her. "Keep a cool head, Ron," soothed Harry. Hermione, saying nothing, just smiled noncommittally at them both. Ron was mad.

"The cheek of her! Be glad" he noted, turning to Harry, "that you don't have a younger sister, or brother for that matter. It's absolute—" But Ron was cut off as, suddenly, a sharp crash reverberated above them in an upstairs floor. Four heads looked up to the ceiling, even though they couldn't see through it.

"Oh great!" exclaimed a voice from whence the din came.

"I'll bet that's Tamara!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, standing abruptly. "She probably just arrived from the States." Her guess was soon proved right, for then, sliding down the rough oak banisters, came a girl none of the four had ever seen before.

She had brown hair cut in an interesting fashion, and wore a t-shirt stating "KISS" on it, with pictures of some freaky people, (whom it was difficult to tell whether they were male or female). Her shoes were red converse, and she wore jeans with bell-bottoms, artistically frayed at the seat pocket edges. It was all completely hip Muggle-style. Upon seeing Mrs. Weasley, though, she ran forward with open arms.

"Aunt Molly!"

"Tamara!" And they embraced each other.

"How long it has been!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, letting Tamara out of her arms and taking a good look at her up and down.

"I could say the same!" The girl named Tamara looked ecclesiastically pleased. Mrs. Weasley then beckoned Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny out of the kitchen.

To them, she declared, "This is Tamara Torrents. She's the daughter of one of my best friends that I ever had while I went to Hogwarts, Rhonda Quince. However, Rhonda moved to the U.S. when she married to Alistair Torrents. Nevertheless, we remain in touch, and, for a few years, before you were born, Ron, Tamara came and stayed here at the burrow while her mother was going through some…" --she paused--"…difficult times."

Ron extended his hand friendlily. He was met by a grin and firm, businesslike handshake. "Call me Tam."

"I'm Ron," introduced Ron, "And these are my friends Harry and Hermione, and this is my sister Ginny."

"Coolio!" nodded Tam, and then she turned back to Mrs. Weasley. "Anywho, is there a place where I can jack up my modem in my room?"

"Modem…?" asked Mrs. Weasley vaguely. Tam slapped herself on the head.

"Oh, yeah, right, sorry, I forgot. You don't have modems and computers and all that Muggle junk." She shook her head. "Everybody in America has computers, even in the wizarding world. I just forgot that you over here are still somewhat behind-the-times as far as technology goes."

She grinned abruptly. "But never mind. How's Uncle Arthur?"

"Arthur's very well, but very busy at the moment. He was promoted last year." Mrs. Weasley smiled proudly.

"That's great!" acknowledged Tam, and she continued interrogating. "How about Fred? George? Bill? And Charlie?"

"They're all fine." remarked Mrs. Weasley. "Bill was married two weeks ago, although he has been bitten by a werewolf." Tam looked concerned.

"Is he OK? It wasn't Uncle Remus who bit him, right?" Mrs. Weasley nodded.

"He's fine, and, in fact, since he wasn't bitten during the full moon, he has few side affects from the attack. And Remus was not the one who bit him."

Tam nodded again. "Coolio. Speaking of whom, is he coming down to visit sometime? I'd like to see him again." Mrs. Weasley nodded.

"He probably will. Anyhow, he just was married lately too." Tam looked excited.

"Ahh," she breathed, "and who is the lucky bride?"

"Nymphadora Tonks. Do you remember her?"

Tam looked like she was going to scream with excitement. "Tonks…marrying Remus? This is so totally wicked, it's not even funny!"

"So you remember her?"

"Of course I do! She used to take me on picnics to Lambert creek." ("We just came from there," put in Hermione, anxious to join the conversation, but no one noticed her remark.) "And she taught me how to ride a broomstick," continued Tam.

"So she did." mused Mrs. Weasley.

"Did Bill cut his hair yet?" Tam asked.

"No."

"Awesome! And what of Fred and George?"

"They opened a joke shop last year, and business is flaring."

"That's really good of them," murmured Tam, "That they are doing the community a service by making their lives a little more hilarious, especially now that you-know-who's back. And that's just perfect for them. A joke shop!" Tam couldn't seem to swallow the information. Suddenly, she abruptly changed the subject. "But I'm forgetting someone…um, um, um, oh yeah. Percy. What's Percy up to these days?"

At this point, Mrs. Weasley sniffed at looked at the floor. From out of her apron pocket she brandished a much-used and wrinkled white linen handkerchief, and she began to dab at her eyes. Ginny sat down next to her mother and hugged her. Tam looked confused, but did the same. "I'm sorry," she said, "Did I say something wrong?" Ron shook his head and patted his mother on the shoulder.

"Oh, well, it's all right. You didn't know about Percy."

"Did he…die?" asked Tamara quietly.

"As good as." assured Ron.

"He just kind of left our family to be on his own. Couldn't stand the rest of us anymore, I suppose." added Ginny in a melancholy tone. "And he had an awful row with mum last Christmas. He hasn't come home since."

"Oh." sighed Tam, and said nothing more.

Eventually, Mrs. Weasley regained her composure and murmured, "Well, we're thrilled to have you here my dear." Just then, the front door slammed, and Mr. Weasley came bustling in. He stopped short when he saw Tam.

"Tamara!" he exclaimed, dropping his glasses carelessly on the side table along with some papers he held in his hand.

"Hi Uncle Arthur!" Tam announced.

"The boys will be along in a minute." said Mr. Weasley, and even as he spoke, a crackling could be heard faintly from outside. The door burst open, and Fred, George, and Charlie came rushing in. (Bill was out of the country with Fleur for the time being.)

Tam seemed somewhat startled to see them all burst in. "Oh yeah," she said, "I just remembered to apologize for apparating into the bedroom rather than downstairs. That was a mistake. You see," she explained hurriedly, "I just got my license this year." Harry was puzzled.

"But I thought you could get it at 17."

"In the U.S., you can't get it until you're 19." she explained with a mock pout. There was an awkward pause. It was quickly smoothed over, however, by Mrs. Weasley, who asked if it was all right with everyone that they should have the plum cake for tea and that she would make boiled kidneys and dumplings for supper. Quickly everyone nodded in agreement, and slowly everyone dispersed in different directions. Tamara went outside in the backyard with Fred and George to see a demonstration of some of their latest products. Ron, Hermione, and Harry climbed upstairs to get out and play a board game. Ginny and Molly went on the service porch (a small laundry room, connected to the kitchen, with a fancy, useless name) to do a bit of laundry. Arthur had to do some 'home-work' in his study, most of which probably consisted of napping and pretending to do paper work, while Charlie went to go and try to fix something outside in the shed. Also, over the course of the afternoon, Evelyn Horsemason's invitation letter came flying through the window, courtesy of Errol, to Mrs. Weasley, and all was as right as it could possibly be in their world.

-------------------------------------

Night settled on the Burrow, and crickets chirped in the jasmine-scented air. Mrs. Weasley, even with her constant workload, still found the time to prepare an exquisite dinner for her guests. The ten people assembled definitely could not fit in the dining room, so the table was leviated outside by Fred and George. They gallantly pretended to be on parade, the tables galloping in the air like horses. This was accompanied by much laughter from Tam, who was striding between the boys draped in a light green table-cloth for a medieval-style princess dress. Harry and Ron were busy with helping Mrs. Weasley bring out the cutlery, with Ginny and Hermione carrying out the food. Soon, everyone had seated themselves around the table. (Hermione, Ron, George, and Fred sat on one side, Ginny, Harry, Charlie, and Tam on the other, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley on either end.) Mouth-watering pork-stuffed dumplings with buttered green beans and juicy boiled kidneys was the fare. Mrs. Easley said a short blessing, and the dining commenced. Tam's close position to the dumplings made her quite pleased, along with the fact that she was far away from the boiled kidneys ("Eww! Artery cloggers!" she remarked disdainfully, making a cross with her fingers.) Everyone had a good appetite, and soon deep discussions were sprung.

Harry, at first, discussed in undertones to Mr. Weasley about the Dark Lord, and security at Hogwarts. Ginny commented that she was sad Harry wouldn't be at school that year to protect them.

"What? Did you just say that Harry isn't going back?" exclaimed Mr. Weasley, who stood up suddenly.

"That's right" Harry assured him. "I'm just concerned about the rest of you. I don't want—"

"Absurd, Harry!" Arthur interrupted sternly, slamming his hand on the table for effect. "You must finish your last year! Without graduating, how do you expect to become an auror in the future? Or pursue any honourable career, for that matter?" Having said this, Mr. Weasley looked around at everyone at the table. They stared back, silent and somewhat shocked at his outburst. Reddening, he seated himself again, and everyone resumed their conversations with a slightly more strained tone in them. "Anyhow," he continued, "Well, er…" He had lost his train of thought. "…Um, well, Harry, the point I'm trying to make is, you MUST go back to Hogwarts. It is the only way."

Harry was not stricken. "I can't go back. I must defeat Voldemort. (Here everyone gathered again stopped short in the middle of their conversations, and all involuntarily cringed at the sound of the Dark Lord's name spoken so freely, excepting the odd newcomer from the States, who instead just stiffened and stared with a hardened glint in her eye.) "Anyhow, I'd just be putting the school in danger" continued Harry, oblivious to the fact that now everyone was listening to his conversation.

"Harry, dear," Molly gently intervened, "Even though Dumbledore is gone, God rest his soul," (here everyone looked down except Tam, who hurriedly followed their example once sensing that she was expected to) "Hogwarts is still the safest place for you."

"You'd be really lonely without your friends," added Tam soberly.

Ron awkwardly piped up, "We already decided we're goin' wherever Harry's goin'."

"You are NOT, Ronald!" declared Mrs. Weasley.

Arthur added, "Your mother and I can't tell Harry what he can or can't do, but we don't want you risking your life for something that we know Harry will complete on his own."

At this, Harry's mind drifted to the prophesy and how he had hoped that he WOULD be the one to succeed, which also made him wonder how Mr. Weasley's words could be so uncannily close to the truth about it.

A moping Ron encouraged Hermione to ask, "Harry, please, please come back. Not only will you not be lonely, but you'll be as safe there as you could be anywhere else, and possibly safer, what with surrounded by your friends and allies. And if we are attacked, we know you'll be able to save us. Or, at least, try to save us."

Charlie, who had been quietly contemplating the whole time, now said, "Well, working with dragons all the time, I know danger, strength, and bravery. But I also know when to retreat. And Harry, I'm thinking that right now that you should retreat. Lie low at Hogwarts for a while. After last year, I doubt that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be expecting you to go back. He is prepared for you to go looking for him, and he's probably also wanting you to go looking for him. So turn the tables and stay two steps ahead." He finished his wise speech with a sage nod of his head.

Harry looked from face to expectant face. He knew that they were all his friends, and only wanted the best for him. Perhaps Mr. Weasley had a point that one more year of schooling would do him good. Besides, after Voldemort was gone, without a finished education, he had a lesser chance of being anything besides a famous boy in his life. And, lastly, Harry liked the fact that he would be acting against what Voldemort wanted. So, somewhat reluctantly, Harry nodded with a sullen look in his eye. He was going back to school, and there was nothing that anyone could do about it.

At this point, Tam got up, (knocking her chair over in the process) and hurried into the kitchen. She came back juggling a plate a sliced shortcake, a bowl of gooey strawberries, and a heaping bowl of whipped cream. With a sigh, she dumped all of these down on the table.

"Anyone for dessert?" she asked brightly as some of the strawberries very unkindly sloshed over the side of the bowl into Fred's lap. "Oh crud!" she ejaculated, and whipped up a damp towel out of nowhere to clean up the spill. She tossed this to Fred, who was looking very vexed at George for laughing. "Sorry," Tam moaned, and went about with serving her dessert. Harry and everyone else found it quite delicious, and so we leave The Burrow with everyone light-heartedly enjoying it (not The Burrow, the shortcake!)

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	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: I am making no money off of this, and this site isn't either. This is purely fan-fiction written by a weird person who has absolutely nothing better to do than write this stuff. I don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, etc. J.K.R. does.

That night, Harry couldn't sleep, although it was past midnight, and though the rest of the house had been snoring for hours already. He felt very restless. Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, he threw the covers away with careless grace and padded barefoot to the window. This he opened, or, rather, tried to open. However, it would not yield to his push; it seemed that rust had developed on the hinges of it. The window made a great deal of noise, but would not budge. Despairing, Harry leant against the window to rest from his exertions. At having to bear most of Harry's weight, finally the window flew open with a sudden crash. It was a wonder that Harry did not fall out. A snort rose from the bed beside him. Harry, remembering that he wasn't alone, stole a glance to see if Ron had been disturbed. However, Ron simply smiled in his dreams and turned over. In his sleep, he snuggled closer to a wad of blankets positioned next to him, almost like a stuffed animal.

"Mhm…homework…" murmured Ron unconsciously, in an approving tone, and Harry had to stifle a laugh. Since when did Ron like homework? It seemed as though it were a good dream, though, so Harry made sure not to wake his friend. Instead, he tiptoed to his bed, grabbed a flashlight, and slipped out the door.

Once safely outside the room, Harry made his way cautiously down the rickety stairs. Every so often he encountered a squeaky floorboard, but, otherwise, nothing hindered him. After a time, he made it down to the kitchen. In the darkness, Harry noticed the stale smell of what Mrs. Weasley had, hours ago, cooked for dinner, mixed with the sharp scents of the spice cabinet just located above the stove and the pungent odour of Quik-Klean for dishes. The spotless wooden floor, smoothed and worn with age, was slippery and smooth and cool beneath his tender feet. He stepped slowly to the back door and went out, leaving the door ajar.

He sat on the stoop with a sigh. The stars glistened like a thousand candles in the night sky, and the moon had disappeared already for the evening. Everything was dark, and the shadows of the trees in the yard fell across Harry as he sat on the doorstep. A warm, lethargic breeze rustled his loose pyjama shorts and shirt, spreading the scents of the eveningtime. The heavy perfume of flowers and the fresh scent of newly-mowed grass teased his senses. In the pond not far from the Burrow, Harry heard a chorus of frogs in a midnight chorus. Beside him, a lone cricket hiding in the moulding and woodwork of the house chirped its mournful tune. A nearly silent bustling noise disturbed the night as its maker passed by. Harry could tell from the dark shape that it was a bat.

Harry closed his eyes contentedly, letting the night invade his body and lull it to dreamland. Such a beautiful thing, night, though enshrouded with mystery. The gentle warmth of the evening was beginning to soak into him, soon enough. After a little while of watching the stars and swatting an occasional mosquito, Harry began to feel as though he could sleep again. He was mentally preparing himself for walking back upstairs to where his warm bed waited when he was startled by the creak of a floorboard behind him.

Harry spun around, only to see Ginny. She was dressed in a flowing pink silk flowered kimono, left untied, that, even in the starlight, accentuated the fiery redness of her hair. Beneath she wore long, tomboyish pyjama pants and a tight t-shirt. The colour of these, in the dark, looked like light blue. Like Harry, she was barefoot, and she smiled kindly at him.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked conversationally as she settled down beside him.

"Uh-huh." Harry was on the verge of nodding off. He leant against Ginny's shoulder and closed his eyes. The perfume she wore was intoxicating…thicker and sweeter to him than the scent of the night air magnified ten times.

Ginny drew her arm around Harry in a motherly fashion. Harry imitated her, slowly. They remained like that for a long time, Ginny leaning against the doorjamb and Harry half-asleep in her arms. Finally, Harry got the energy to look at his watch.

"We ought to be getting to bed," he said softly, wrapping his arm around Ginny again.

"I suppose so," replied Ginny, sounding for all the world insincere. Harry grinned into the darkness.

"I _do_ love you," he said, the words spilling out in a drunken manner before he could stop them.

Ginny laughed. He did so love it when she did that! Her laugh was, altogether, feminine and pristine.

"And I _do _love you!" she told him, stroking his hair with her long elegant fingers. Harry felt an immense surge of satisfaction with his life and everything in the world at that minute. Nothing mattered any more, except the two of them. Who cared about Voldemort? Who cared about Snape? Who cared about R.A.B.? Who cared about anything, anyways? Before he knew what he was doing, Harry leaned up and brushed his lips against Ginny's. Ginny said nothing, just clasped him closer to her. And then they kissed, officially, in the starlight.

…………

After this, the summer began to pass by all too quickly. Almost before he could realize it, Harry had been at the Burrow a whole week. The days were gliding smoothly by, one by one, and Bill and Fleur's wedding was approaching rapidly. It was the first Weasley boy wedding, so it was to be as grand an affair as Molly and Arthur could afford.

Fleur was spending a lot of time at the Burrow now, helping Mrs. Weasley choose caterers and a five-course menu, picking out flowers and decorations, and ordering from catalogues the most beautiful bride's and bride's maids' dresses. (Ginny and Fleur's sisters Gabrielle and Giselle were to be the bride's maids. The ring-bearer was to be Ron, and the best man was to be Bill's best friend from work and Hogwarts, Sam Monroe.) The only item on the menu not to be catered was the magnificent wedding cake that Mrs. Weasley was going to bake. She talked endlessly about it, and it was her greatest obsession for a week.

Ron and Harry did all they could to stay out of the way of the stampede of ideas flowing in the kitchen, staying, for the most part, either upstairs or outside. Although Ginny and Hermione were usually lassoed into helping plan by Mrs. Weasley, thus omitting them from their group most of the time, Tam was a welcome new addition. In reality, Tam was supposed to be assisting Mrs. Weasley in her frenzy of preparation, but the only real thing the American girl ended up doing was licking stamps for the invitations. The Ron and Harry found her to be a friendly, fun, an intelligent character, and an excellent beater in Quidditch.

Sam Monroe, Bill's best friend, (as mentioned before) came often to the Burrow, too. With Bill rather unfortunately being away on business until the day before the wedding was to take place, Sam was rather forcefully incorporated to do what the bridegroom should have been doing, such as running about from Diagon Alley and back, picking up flowers, delivering messages to and fro, and many other things that the ladies' head committee of Ginny, Molly, and Fleur had no time to do. Sam was a quiet boy, with long straight black hair, large brown eyes that queried intelligently from beneath his bangs, and a long nose. He was, in addition to being a capable wizard, a super genius at Muggle mathematics. He could do complex algebraical equations in his head very quickly and accurately. Anyhow, when he wasn't disapparating to and from the caterer's offices, and sometimes stayed to dinner, everyone thought that he was pretty cool.

Harry and Ginny's relationship hadn't blossomed after their kiss in the previous chapter. At least, not openly. Covertly, though, they began to long and pine for each other even more than before, if this was at all possible. Any moment without the other in sight was a moment wasted, and this must have meant a lot of wasted time over the course of the month, since both stayed pretty much away from each other. Both contented themselves with the fact that when all of this chaos with Voldemort was laid to rest finally, that they would no longer need to hide their feelings for each other from the rest of the world.

But anyhow, around them others relationships were, on the other hand, prospering a great deal. Fred and George started to visit unnaturally often, also. As soon as they arrived, however, they separated, which also was very unusual. George spent most of the time he spent there at the Burrow making small talk to the girls in the kitchen. Fred, on the other hand, hung out with Ron, Harry, and Tam. They played Quidditch a lot when it was sunny, and Exploding Snaps when it rained. Harry couldn't help but notice that Fred and Tam seemed very taken to each other, but he said nothing.

One morning, about a month into vacation, Tam and Fred were talking in low voices in a corner of the living room. This was the reason that Harry didn't know they were there, as he entered the room nonchalantly, until he heard:

"I really…think I love you too! No, scratch that, I do! I know!"

And then some sound resembling that of a suction-tipped toy arrow being withdrawn from a window resounded through the room. Harry backed out quickly, unseen by the couple, averting his eyes. Well, at least some people were lucky enough not to be a national hero so that they could snog in peace!

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	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: I am making no money off of this, and this site isn't either. This is purely fan-fiction written by a weird person who has absolutely nothing better to do than write this stuff. I don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, etc. J.K.R. does.

Snape stepped into the room, donned in a flowers-with-smiley-faces vinyl cooking apron, carrying a dripping spatula. Wafts of something that smelled delicious drifted in behind him, along with the pungent smell of something burning. He was looking slightly guilty as he approached a frail, delicate lady reading on a plush, Victorian-style sofa. No, Professor Snape was not doing community service for the disabled and elderly. He had spent his entire summer here, as he did for a great deal of nearly every summer, not at Spinner's End, but with his deaf mother.

There was not the least resemblance between Eileen Snape and Professor. Where he was dark, she was light, where he was strict and awkward, she was completely at ease. Her once-golden hair, which was now whitening and streaked with grey, fell in long tresses down to her slight waist. She lacked his prominent nose, his beady black eyes, and his height. Instead, she had a perfect, delicate nose, clear blue eyes with lashes enhanced by probably gallons of mascara a week, and she was short, but her slimness made her seem taller. Her book was obviously interesting, for it was at least the third time that summer her son had seen her with that particular volume. However, Mrs. Snape absorbed it as gushingly as she had the first time. But then, there was one thing similar between mother and son--keenness of brain, and quickness of wits. Snape couldn't help but be proud of her, making do with what she had for such a long time without ever showing it. Indeed, the small fortune left by his abusive father Tobias to his widow Eileen Prince-Snape ought to have dwindled down to nothing by now, decades later, but apparently his mother was more thrifty than he originally thought, for she asked for absolutely no financial assistance, and sometimes even offered to give him money when she deemed it necessary. Snape thought it slightly odd, but thought little more of it.

Mrs. Snape had a pencil and her hand, and she added to the already heavily-annotated pages of Keeper of the Key by Romana Shinglewidth with miniscule, perfect handwriting. Tenderly, Severus pulled the pencil from her flying hand to her great annoyance.

"Severus, dear, don't startle me like that!" Despite the fact that in the in the year Severus turned 15, she had lost her hearing, Mrs. Snape still talked with the aptitude of any hearing person. Severus wrote his response on a piece of blank paper he retrieved from the side table.

"_I burnt the chicken." _

"Tsk, Tsk, Tsk, did you set the oven for the wrong temperature?"

"_I did just what you told me--450o for twenty minutes."_

"I said 450? I meant 400. So I suppose it's my fault in a way."

"_If you say so, mother."_

"Well never mind; just get the jar of ham from the pantry. We'll have that instead."

Snape did not reply on paper this time, he merely nodded. God, how he hated pickled ham! Unfortunately, whenever he wasn't home for the summer holidays, apparently she was too busy within herself to prepare much more than that. She ate her best when he was there, and though he was always telling her that it wasn't healthy eating pickled ham day after day, meal after meal, she said she didn't mind, and that no one had ever died of pickled ham. She did have her point, he reflected, in the latter comment, but he was sure he'd starve on her daily diet. Snape liked variety.

Over dinner, a black hair emerged in the salad.

"I am always telling you to cut those dreadful locks of yours and you never listen to me!"

Severus' fingers crept protectively over his wavy ringlets and pushed them back. His hair was a small source of pride to him, (and that was important because he felt he had very little to be proud about) and apart from a trim once a month, he hadn't cut them back in years. At least, though, he washed it often enough so it wasn't as oily as it had been in his adolescence. His hair was, somewhat, a reminder of his grudge against James Potter and his lot. He would never cut it again, at least, not until he forgave them. And he was not about to do that very soon.

Unfortunately, his mother could not commiserate with him. In fact, she was entirely oblivious as to even the existence of Voldemort. After she lost her hearing, no one ever bothered to explain in writing or had the heart to her what her son had gotten into, and what was going on in the world outside the small village where she dwelled. There came no postman, of course, because they had owls. No one ever had any cause to take a five mile, difficult hike up to the house, and you couldn't apparate any closer than that due to ancient protective charms. She never took a newspaper, either, so she never found out in that way. To this day, she never knew that her son had never been anything besides a respectable, upstanding citizen. And Snape preferred to leave her in the dark. It would be better if she never knew. If he lost her trust and affection, he had lost them of the person who loved him best. And he did not wish to forfeit his mother's care and concern of him, which he knew could not be replaced, even by another family member.

True, Snape was officially in hiding from the Ministry. That is one reason why he had not returned to the Spinner's End house this summer. You may think that his mother's house was a bad place to hide. However, no one knew he where his mother lived, much less that she even was still alive, except for the Dark Lord, to whom Snape had merely confided his whereabouts lest he be needed. (Which was doubtful, for Voldemort had told him that he should take 'a rest' from the action for a while, after playing such a large role in accomplishing Dumbledore's death.) And its isolation from the outside world proved very useful. So he resided there, very safe, and a great deal more comfortably off than Narcissa and Draco. Sure, he could have brought them here, but he had thought it better that they get out of the country. And there, he had decided grimly, was where they would stay until the Dark Lord was laid to rest. Then they could come back, if ever that time came. It would be safer for both him and them.

……………………………………….

Professor Snape's father had committed suicide a year before Severus impulsively joined the Death Eaters. Not that Severus cared much if his father was dead. In fact, he actually considered both himself and his mother better off without Tobias Snape. He remembered his father only as a horrid brute that drank too much, went about with other women often and mistreated his true spouse. From what he gathered, joining the Snape and Prince families was the idea of his parent's elders; in other words, an arranged marriage. It went entirely wrong after two years. There seemed to have been a minor comeback and apology, when three years after the birth of Severus, they had a girl they named Sylvia. However, once it was discovered that his sister was a Squib, the old embers burst into flame again. In another four years, when Severus turned seven, his father took his own life. After that, finally a sense of calm and peace filled the home for the first time ever.

Mother sent Sylvia to a Muggle boarding school at rather a young age, so little sister wreaked havoc only for a few months of the year during the summer holidays. She didn't exist to the wizarding world, by Mother's orders. To even the family's closest friends, she had 'died at birth.' When she was home, she lived a sort of existence Harry did while at Privet drive. If she wanted to go out of the house and play, she went at night into the forest that bordered their home, so it would be a minimal chance that anyone would see her. The rest of the time she was to remain in the house, and when company came, she went to her room, doing nothing but, as Harry so aptly put it, 'making no noise and pretending that I don't exist'. That was how great the embarrassment of the family was of her. However, Mrs. Snape felt an obligation to the girl, for, of course, she was her mother, despite the humiliation to the family she caused. Since Eileen did as little as possible for her daughter, she tended to indulge herself too much over her son. She pampered and cosseted him from the time of her husband's death on, but Severus was old enough by then and of a prim, frugal disposition that prevented him from growing to be spoiled rotten.

In Severus' fourth year, Mother began to lose her hearing. She went to various specialists, but there was nothing to be done. One fine summer day just before Severus began his fifth year, Mother woke up not being able to hear anything. Nevertheless, it did not kill her straightforward attitude towards life, and she turned it into a blessing in many ways. Sadly, most of her friends stopped keeping contact with her, for it became a bit of a hassle having to write out whatever they wanted to say. A few stood loyal to her, but most of them died while Lord Voldemort reigned supreme. Those who survived never had the heart to explain fully what had happened, especially since they knew her son had been so intimately involved in the proceedings. Mrs. Snape lived a completely hermit-like existence in the pretty house in the hills, 5 miles from any sign of civilization.

Snape adored his mother, in a quiet, passionate way. She was the only person who noticed when he was worried. Only she _cared_ when he was worried. She was the person who trusted in him implicitly. When he came home from the school for vacation every year looking somewhat scrawny, she was determined to fill him up and 'undo what that dreadful school food has done.' As we have just observed, Mrs. Snape found great irritation that her son did not condescend to cut his hair back 'like a decent man would.' And she positively hated it when he came downstairs donned in pyjamas. ("You could catch a draught…") He found this fuss unnecessary, but he half missed it when he was gone. No one cared for him at Hogwarts, and many actually hated him. But only three people knew him, or had known him, intimately enough to know he was not all angles and coldness: Dumbledore, Mother, and Himself. Of course, he didn't care if he caught a draught, he liked his hair the way it was, and he thought the school food was excellent. Dumbledore might have minded if he came in down in pyjamas unless it was for some specific reason, hadn't cared about the hair (it was obvious--Dumbledore didn't look like he had even trimmed his hair in centuries) and he himself enjoyed the school food, or he would have changed it. And so only little old mother cared, but the fact that she did care meant a lot to Severus. The only problem was that she expected, unfortunately, that everyone could comprehend him as easily as she did. Therefore, she expected him to have a good many real friends, which, in fact, her son had not. But that was why when she made petty remarks that seemed to insult his age of adulthood, his looks, his intelligence, or anything else that should present itself, Severus Snape never protested.

………………………

A week before term started, four owls soared into the kitchen one morning during breakfast. They bore the long-awaited Hogwarts letters; one for Hermione, one for Ginny, one for Ron, and one for Harry. Tam expressed a strong desire to want to accompany them to Daigon Alley, so she came along when they went to buy their new books and other school things. She spent an awfully immense amount of time in Fred and George's joke shop, or so it seemed to Harry. He couldn't decide why, but then again, he thought he was better off not knowing.

Two days afterwards, everything was amiss at the Burrow.

Ginny: "Mom, where's my purple socks with the pink hearts on them?"

Mrs. Weasley: "In the drawer, dear."

Ginny: "But they aren't!"

Mrs. Weasley: "Then they're in the laundry I just brought up!"

Ginny: "There's only skirts and sweaters there!"

Mrs. Weasley: "Then ask your brother!"

Ginny: "I _did!_"

Ron: "MUM, I DON'T HAVE THEM! Harry'll tell you I don't have them!"

Harry: "That's right, he doesn't!"

Mrs. Weasley: "Well socks don't walk off all by themselves. Oh, wait, here's one. It was on the floor of the landing."

Ginny: (looking over balcony) "That's not it. That is the one with the red hearts."

Ron: "What's the difference between red and pink hearts? They look the same anyway."

Ginny: "There's a BIG difference, you idiot!"

Mrs. Weasley: "No name-calling, Ginny!"

Ginny: "Sorry mum!"

Hermione: "Ginny, I found them. They were in my laundry."

Mrs. Weasley: "Thank-you, Hermione!"

Ginny: "Yes, thanks!"

Mr. Weasley: (from behind newspaper) "What time is it, dear?"

Mrs. Weasley: "We leave in five minutes, so you'd better get the car out if you want to be on time."

Mr. Weasley: (jumps up) "Great Scott! How time flies!" (rushes out door)

Hermione: (pulls trunk down stairs, bumping each step) "I'm ready!"

Ginny: (right behind her) "Me too!"

Mrs. Weasley: "Hurry up, boys! We're going to be late!"

(after a few minutes, the boys come bumping down the stairs.)

Mrs. Weasley: "Run, run, run!"

(everyone dashes out door lugging trunks. car doors are slammed.)

Mr. Weasley: "We're off!"

(car revs up)

Mrs. Weasley: "Wait! I forgot to shut the door!" (runs back, slams front door.) "There!"

(car revs up again, zooms laboriously out of driveway.)

And everything was quiet at the Burrow.

…………..

Severus was ready to leave at four in the afternoon, to create the illusion to his mother that he was going back to Hogwarts. Over breakfast, (more pickled ham!) Mother addressed a point that always was discussed at the last breakfast of the summer--women. Snape was hoping that this year, like every other year he had hoped, she'd forget to mention it since she was so busy with her writing (over the course of the evening, she'd finished her annotations in The Keeper of the Key and now had gone on to answering no less than twenty letters which had come that morning.) But no, the subject always presented itself as though she had an alarm clock for a brain.

"So, Severus, when will I be able to meet her?"

"_Meet who?" _ he wrote hurriedly.

"Your girl, of course!" (In Mother's opinion, Severus should be having fun and flirting with girls ten or fifteen years younger than him.)

"_I don't have a girl." _(This was no lie.)

"Oh, come now dear, you can tell your mother. I might even be able to help you in some way with a bit of advice." She winked.

"_No girl." _

"I really can't believe that." She frowned. "There must be someone in your life."

"_No one." _

"Oh very well, don't tell me if you don't want to. But someday I'd like to get a good look at her. See if she's good enough for you."

"_Mother, I am a grown man. If I had a 'girl' I'm sure I could handle her very nicely indeed. I wouldn't need any assistance, thanks."_

Snape had hoped to end the conversation there. But it only resumed.

"Now don't be feisty with me, Severus. I wouldn't mind. You can tell me all about her."

Snape was blushing a queer pale red at this point.

"_There is no one!"_

Suddenly Mother backed off with a sweet, innocent smile, as though she just had been discussing what lovely weather it was for fishing.

"Whatever you say, dear."

And the subject, for a year anyway, had been cancelled. However, Snape knew behind those round, girlish dimples, the subject had not been given up at all. And possibly, she might touch on the subject later in the year by letter. But it would not be taken up as seriously as this morning.

It was with some relief that Snape kissed his mother gently on the cheek before saying goodbye. (His mother had accompanied him to the first point from which he could disapparate within the area.) But it was also with sadness. When was Mother ever going to finally demand "Who is she" when there really was a 'She?' Shaking his head, Snape disapparated as his mother waved a handkerchief distractingly, as though she almost hoped he might mess up and leave an arm or leg behind. Within seconds, he was gone.

……………………

The Hogwarts express left without fail, on time, with two Weasleys, one Potter, and one Granger aboard. The trip was uneventful, and while Ginny went to socialize with her 6th year friends, the other three shared a compartment with Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. At lunch, though, a man came into their apartment.

He was good-looking, in a subtle way. His brown hair looked soft and becoming. He was of middle height, and neither dumpy nor thin, but tending more towards athletic; he might have made a good football player. His lips, though set as he looked into the compartment, seemed more inclined to break into a smile than a frown, and his large, bovine-like brown eyes had a mocking, laughing look to them. If one could create a good one-word description of him, it would have been something woody and brown, like Acorn or Hazel. He was quite a young man, just perhaps six years older than the rest of them.

He looked from each face inquiringly. "May I join you?" he asked politely. After their assent, he sank down into the extra seat.

Everyone looked at him curiously; it was evident that he was the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, but they couldn't tell much else about him, except Hermione noted to herself that possibly he had just had a haircut, and that he had had very long hair. But she only inference this because his hand kept going up as though to draw his hair behind his ears where there was no hair.

Seeming to sense the amount of disruption he caused, the teacher remarked, "Well, I guess I'd better introduce myself. My name is Gary De Rhone, and I guess I'm your new Potions teacher." He looked anxiously from face to face, as though searching for something. "Are you all 7th years?" he asked. Everyone, who was rather puzzled that he would be the potions teacher, as opposed to the D.A.D.A. teacher, nodded, except Luna, who was the only one who actually said something.

"I'm Luna Lovegood."

"Uh…nice." Professor De Rhone nodded. Suddenly, he realized what she had just said, and decided to pursue the conversation. "Oh. Lovegood?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't your father run that magazine, The Quibbler?"

"Yeah. You read it?"

"Occasionally. One can't get it too often in the U.S."

"So that's where you're from? That's interesting. And I shall have to let my dad know he needs to do more promoting over there." Luna seemed pleased that someone was willing to talk to her about her favourite subject.

"I especially liked that article about the Rosetta Stone being written as a declaration of independence by Oman the Oblivious last month."

"It was interesting. My all-time favourite article that we published was about how Frank Baum had an illegitimate daughter who was a witch, who gave him the inspiration to write a famous Muggle novel, The Wizard of Oz."

"Really? I must have missed that one. That sounds intriguing, though. I remember reading the book."

And the conversation continued along such lines. After a short period, others felt they wanted to bring the subject off the magazine and onto other things. So Harry, Neville, Ron, and Hermione introduced themselves. When Harry introduced himself, Professor De Rhone threw him a glance that was either reproachful or extremely hateful; Harry couldn't tell because it was too brief. He guessed the latter, although he saw no reason for the new teacher to disdain him upon their first meeting. The teacher seemed to be slightly familiar for some reason, and seemed to remind Harry of cardboard boxes, oddly enough.

After a time, Gary De Rhone left. Before he exited, he seemed to want to say something to Hermione in particular, but he instead said, "Well, I guess I'll see you all at the feast." Then he turned abruptly and went down the hallway.

"I don't understand why they haven't cancelled that job; it's so obviously jinxed!" remarked Ron.

"Happily enough, though, Snape was affected by the jinx," noted Harry.

"Well, that man looks nice enough," said Hermione. "Poor man! He doesn't know where he's headed." And that was the end of the topic.

…………

Snape returned from the apartment of Harry, Hermione, Neville, Ron, and Luna. He was pleased to see that no one had recognized him under the guise of Gary De Rhone. He had only able to carry an intelligent conversation about the Quibbler for such a long time with Luna because he had read through the last issue several times right before he barged in.

The pickled ham sandwich his mother had packed for his lunch was really getting to him in the form of heartburn. He raised his wand to rid of it. He murmured a spell he had created himself for that purpose, and felt instantly better.

It was really quite hilarious how he was fooling everyone. He was taking the Polyjuice potion and living the life of an American whom Voldemort had killed weeks ago. It had been Snape's duty to dispose of the body, and he had taken a crop of the hair when he did so. His aim--keep an eye on what was going on at Hogwarts. His assumed name was nice and unflamboyant. And, one nice thing about being in someone else's body, reflected Snape, was that your hair ceased to be oily, although Snape felt uncomfortable with the close-trim haircut. He had come quite close to blowing his cover thrice in there, stressing the American accent in every word, giving unwarranted dirty looks to Harry Potter, and feeling that sudden impulse to tell Hermione earnestly as he left, "And Miss Granger, you look simply _beautiful_ today."

Snape didn't know where that odd impulsive phrase originated, not why it popped into his head. No, wait, scratch that, he did know. Hermione was looking extremely beautiful today, yet there was no visible change in her. Snape shook his head irritably; possibly stuck-up know-it-alls were the kind of girls that the real Gary De Rhone liked, and since, possibly, Snape inhabited his body, his head was being affected. Snape shook off the feeling and tried to focus on something else.

Snape spent a great deal of the remained of his afternoon reorganizing his teaching curriculum so that it was unrecognizable from that of last year, so that his identity would not be given away by it. It was now quite a bit more lax the first three weeks, and one lesson for some groups had name games so that he could 'learn' his student's names. Well, he wasn't sure how much they would learn the first week, but he knew that it would be the most pleasant first week he had ever taught, both for him and the students.

After reading and re-reading the Quibbler several times until he was greatly perturbed (the Quibbler was not at all his favourite magazine) and poring over the Daily Prophet until he had practically memorized word for word what Desmond Sheik had to say about Lord Voldemort's whereabouts, which, coincidently, he knew to be completely erratic, Snape fell to his last resort for entertainment: he dug through his pockets.

Snape was, in some ways, a pack rat. Anything he picked up went in his pocket, until he either remembered and needed it or cleaned them out. When he had time in excess to spare, he went through and rediscovered everything he was carrying. Now he spread out the contents of his pockets on the empty seat next to him. They consisted as such: a small quotation dictionary, a girl's hair tie, a scarlet-coloured crayon tip, an already-opened letter addressed to him, a gold galleon, a wadded up handkerchief, a ticket stub for The Phantom of the Opera on June the 19th at 7:00pm at Her Majesty's Theatre (seat 17A Balcony), a safety pin stuck into a piece of torn paper, a red marble, the remnants of a pack of bubble gum, and one of those pop tabs from the top of a soda can. This was quite a haul even for Severus. He went through each object and remembered why it was in his pocket in the first place. The crayon tip, the bubble gum, the pop tab, and the ticket stub were from his last trip to Muggle London. The quotation dictionary had been pressed upon him as he was leaving home that morning. The hair tie he had picked up in the hallway of the train, and he couldn't remember where the handkerchief, the configuration with the safety pin and paper, or the marble came from. The letter, however, was the most intriguing of the lot. Snape unfolded it absently to peruse over it again.

_Severus:_

_I am in a spot of trouble. As you know, I have finished my job as a secretary for Don Billings, the steel magnate, and, last I contacted you, I was in the process of rearranging my total life, with destruction of my old bacheloette-dom, by joining my life with that of Marcus. The aforementioned man, however, abandoned me on the day we were to be wed, not leaving any clue or remaining item to even prove he existed. And, not to mention, he left all of his unpaid bills to be filled by me. I have not even an idea of where the beast went, nor what my next move in life is. Currently, there is a child on the way. I'm in a tight place, as I mentioned before. I feel trapped, as though lost in a cave somewhere in the south. But here is where you come into the picture. Due to possible scandal, I must cause an interception to smooth over it. I do not need any more of your help but to mention exactly how and where to reach any eligible bachelors who may be able to help me out. Anyhow, I know you will do your utmost in playing your cards deftly. You always play your part well. However, if anyone would help me, it would avert further shame for the family, shame for me, and that scarcely begins to cover the possible results. I highly suspect that you are not going to commiserate with me, however, but hopefully I am mistaken. Note that I am only judging you by who you seem to be, not how I actually know you to act, so write me. I will send a letter to you from my doctor that will prove of my situation, if there is any doubt in your mind. I do not wish to deprive of life and perfect liberty the child within me. It would not only be cruel and heartless, but it would be putting myself in danger. Though, perhaps, you care not in the least, so long as I steer clear of you. So fare well, my brother. _

_Sylvia_

_1.1 1.12 1.13 1.22 2.15 2.18 2.19 3.11 3.12 4.22 5.16 5.19 5.20 5.21 5.22 5.23 6.8 6.9 6.17 6.18 6.19 7.10 7.11 7.12 7.13 7.14 7.15 8.2 8.3 8.4 8.10 8.15 8.16 8.17 9.5 9.6 9.9 10.3 10.4 10.5 10.6 10.7 10.8 10.9 10.10 10.11 10.12 10.13 10.20 11.1 11.2 11.3 11.4 12.3 12.11 12.12 12.13 12.14 12.15 13.17 13.18 13.19 14.9 14.10 14.11 14.12 14.13 14.14 14.15 14.16 14.17 14.21 14.22 14.23 14.24 14.25 15.17 15.18 15.19 15.20 16.5 16.6 16.15 17.2 17.5 17.8 17.13 _

Snape squinted at the paper, bewildered by the apparently meaningless numbers. After a moment, he rummaged through his satchel, which was propped up next to him, for a pencil. Snape, having nothing else to do, began to doodle nothing in particular on the back of the letter while looking out the window at the countryside as it flashed before his eyes. As he did so, he wondered why Sylvia had written him, and analyzed for not the first time his sister's position.

After she flunked out of Muggle college because she claimed to be 'bored,' (Severus suspected foul play with a fellow male student, however) Mother practically threw Sylvia out on the doorstep. She was a sorry sight, crying for mercy at Mother's feet, pleading to be let to stay home and not forced into the Muggle world forever. But Mother was firm, and demanded that Sylvia, since she was of age, go out and make her fortune the hard way, and made sure Sylvia knew she was disowned and left out of her mother's will of testament. Mother also forbade the miserable girl to bother her brother or herself again, for money or anything else. However, a year later, when 'by accident' Severus ran into her near the Ministry of Magic, he couldn't ignore the stinging pang of his conscience neglecting her any more, even though he had never been especially fond of his sister. In his older-brother way, he felt that he needed to sustain his little sister by some unsaid obligation. But than again, he was at a point when he was most enthusiastic about joining Voldemort, so perhaps then his concepts were slightly warped. At any rate, Snape somehow got stuck supplying his sister with money every year, even after he quit with the Death Eater thing. All of it, of course, against his mother's wishes. But he had never thought anything of it, except for the subtle knowledge lodged in the back of his mind that he probably wouldn't be having a very early retirement. Not that he really cared much, anyway. Hogwarts had been the majority of his life for some time now, and he did not mind if it was for a lot longer, anyways.

Severus drifted off to sleep very quickly, not having much but a rambling mind to occupy him, and the constant motion of the train made him tired. And so we leave our favourite murderer in this tranquil setting for now.

……..

Please review and rate!


	5. Chapter 6

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

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_**Chapter 5**_

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_4th Horocrux/R.A.B._

_Raymond Andronous Baltic_

_Harry/Ron/Hermione stuff_

_If Professor De Rhone is the Potions master, then who is the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?_

_Sorting hat's song_

_Sorting_

_Feast_

_Visiting Hagrid_

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Chapter 6

Snape slept until one of the Ravenclaw prefects, in passing his compartment, knocked against the window to arouse him. It didn't take long for him to retrieve his wits and bearings enough to get him off the train.

He 'introduced' himself to McGonagall and a few other miscellaneous professors loitering in the teacher's lounge upon his arrival at the castle. None, especially the new headmistress, he was pleased to note, seemed to suspect anything amiss about him.

The feast ensued closely after their arrival. Not much of interest actually happened there, except that De Rhone was 'introduced' to the students, and the fact that two girls of 7th year age approached the sorting hat one by one, like first years, and were sorted into Gryffindor. There was a ripple of murmurs as they went up and down. Snape was curious, but he always found that others would usually ask questions for you and make you look more intelligent, so he just tuned in to the various conversations at the staff table

Sprout was talking to Madam Pomfrey about how Muggles poisoned their fruit and vegetables to keep the bugs from eating their produce. Flitwick was debating with Hagrid the proper way to manage uncouth house elves. But then Snape heard the conversation he was looking for, between McGonagall and Slughorn. "Yes, Horace, the shorter one is Cherry Peterson and the other is Lia. They're twins, obviously. Apparently, their uncle home-schooled them until the beginning of last year, but since then they have been on a sort of hiatus. They tested into their 6th year even though they are of the age of 7th years."

"Ah," replied Slughorn thoughtfully. He continued, "I was thinking, Minerva, of starting up the Slug Club again this year." Minerva nodded but said nothing. Snape guessed what Slughorn had been thinking--supposedly, homeschoolers were very intelligent. Possibly he wanted to renew his horrid club and include them…? Snape decided not to dwell any more on the subject. Soon the feast ended, and he was docilely following McGonagall to his 'new' bedroom, the room allotted to new Professor De Rhone.

"The various Hogwarts teachers all sleep in this wing," explained McGonagall as she led him down the hall he knew so well. He paused here and there to look at some of the more curious objects adorning the walls as they made their way down the corridor. They soon reached a door at the furthest end of the hall. "This," she declared quietly as she unlocked the door with her large ring of keys, "Is your room." With that, she presented him the key. "This is the only key to this room, so mind you don't lose it," she noted as she threw the door open.

It was dark in the room, and it smelt over-clean and sterilized, like some lower-class motels do when one first walks inside. McGonagall clapped several times to try and turn on the lights, but received nothing for her efforts. In the dimness, Snape could see a candelabra settled elegantly on a side table, and he lighted it silently with his wand. When they could finally see, Minerva looked around only to see that there were no lamps, just various candles and other candelabras located around the room. "Oh, how silly of me to forget; the former occupant of this room didn't use lamps" she said more to herself than De Rhone-Snape. The latter himself looked around approvingly. He was in his old room.

The gloomy light reflected on the stone walls. A raven-black ebony four-poster was in the corner. The bedspread, rug, and curtains were of blood-red velvet with gold touches and tassels. All the furniture was dark ebony with gold handles and knobs and things of that sort. A door led to a small granite bathroom with a bathtub and shower. It was different from Snape had chosen this room years ago as the one that had best fitted, in his opinion, his personality, but he had influenced it to become even more Gothic and gloomy over the ensuing years. It was uncomfortable and prim; it was spacious and very drafty. Because of the latter, he knew his mother would have a fit if she saw his quarters here at Hogwarts. There was only two visible difference from when he had last left it—his more personal effects had been swept away, and a second wardrobe had been added.

"Rather gloomy, but it's the best we can do for now," apologized Minerva sadly. Snape-De Rhone shrugged.

"It's fine with me. I don't mind it at all," he assured her. "If I feel any need to change things later, I presume that I am at liberty to do so? Different colours and so on?"

Minerva sighed. "If you did, no one's going to really care. I would venture to say that, personally, it could do with some renovating and—er, slight modernization."

"You could say that again," replied De Rhone wholeheartedly. The Snape part of him was glaring at Minerva, but De Rhone did not show it.

McGonagall displayed the large wardrobes. "You can keep your things in these."

"What about that?" De Rhone asked conversationally. He was pointing towards a very large locked door. The second wardrobe had been moved in front of it, so it was partially hidden, but it was still visible. McGonagall shook her head. "We've been trying to get that closet open all summer, but it won't without a spoken password. We brought in the second wardrobe to make up for the loss of it."

"Ah," murmured De Rhone. "Perhaps I can do something with it."

At this, McGonagall smiled. "Even if you managed to get it open, I don't think there would be much of value in there. Perhaps an old set of robes, or some books."

"Well, I may as well try and open it. I like to figure things out." With that, he levitated the heavy wardrobe to one of the many vacant corners. He then stooped to the keyhole of the closet and received a black eye for his troubles from an invisible charm he had set last year on the door. "Ugh! That was stupid of me!" he declared, restraining the urge to swear, as he was in the presence of a woman. McGonagall, however, stepped out into the hall.

"Your neighbour on the left is Professor Trelawney, who teaches divination," She gestured with a look of contempt at the door closest to his. "And I am in the room directly across from yours."

"Thanks for letting me know," answered De Rhone-Snape, appearing to closely examine the closet. "Did you use sensors to check for dark magic behind this door?"

"Yes, but, then, the person who kept this room before wouldn't have been so daft as to put anything that would be incriminating behind there."

"Oh. I see," replied De Rhone-Snape, sounding as though he didn't see at all. "And who was this notorious previous occupant? You've mentioned them several times now yet never mentioned their name."

A stony look passed over Minerva's face. "I'm not sure that it would be good to tell you, sir. I myself, if I were to sleep in this room, would have nightmares." This was certainly understandable!

Snape looked at the locked door. The password he had set it to was ' Montgomery,' the name of his only adolescent crush. (No one knew about that but him.) He knew he would need to get in the closet sometime that night to get some of his old curriculum, but he wanted McGonagall to see him open it 'by accident' so that it wouldn't appear suspicious to her that he should figure out the secret so quickly. He decided to, very casually, say the password in a sentence.

"Oh come now, Professor! It can't be as bad as Lucifus Montgomery, who actually came to this school!"

At this, the closet door suddenly made a little 'click' noise, and unlocked gently. McGonagall looked from De Rhone to the door, and from the door to De Rhone. "I don't know how in the world you came to do that," she said slowly. "But, actually, I believe you mean Lucius Malfoy."

"Of course, my mistake," mused Snape-De Rhone, who knew he had meant Montgomery all along. Minerva walked over curiously to the door. She pulled it open all the way, and peered in, squinting in the dim light. Inside, as she had supposed, were only a few sets of dark black robes and stack of dusty books. But, there were also at least a hundred-odd glass bottles, all different sizes, shapes, and colours, labelled "hemlock" and "dragon's blood" and various other names. She picked one up and shook it.

"This isn't powdered wolfsbane," she murmured, and held up the bottle to the light. "I think…yes, it must be. A memory." She opened the bottle, peering inside. Snape had hoped that she wouldn't look at the bottles too carefully, but he realized she was too inquisitive for that. He feebly wished she would not want to look at them in a pensieve. Minerva was now going through all the bottles. "None of these are ingredients; they're all memories."

"Of the previous occupant?" De Rhone murmured pointedly. Minerva nodded.

"I suppose so." She didn't pick up on the hint.

"Come now," he pleaded, "Who was he? Or she?" he added hastily.

"Someone just as bad as Lucius Malfoy." She shook her head sadly.

"Oh. I know. Whats-his-name, Sergio Frappe," remarked Snape-De Rhone. "The teacher who turned out to be a Death-Eater."

Minerva nodded. "Severus Snape. We thought he was on our side," she said simply. "We trusted him. He wasn't our friend, especially, but he was our ally, until he showed himself for what he was. He was an unfortunate loss."

Snape noticed she used the past tense, as though he were dead. Well, he realized that he was as good as dead, to her!

Suddenly, Minerva scooped up a handful of bottles. "I'll come get the rest of these later," she said sternly, "I'm going to go dispose of them." With that, she began to walk out the door. "If you need anything," she added, "I'll be in my room. In the morning, breakfast is at seven-thirty. Lunch is served at one. Tea is at four. Dinner is at seven. See you then." With that, she shut the door firmly behind her. Snape heard her walk across the hall, unlock her room, and go inside. Snape knew, bitterly, that McGonagall was going to look through his memories, one by one. At least, he knew, those twelve that she had taken were, (he could tell by the bottle) from his earliest childhood, and less important, and very brutal.

But now he took out his wand. He muttered a few words which apparently meant nonsense, even in the wizard world, and suddenly everything changed. The dark bedspread disappeared and was replaced by a cosy-looking chenille quilt. Heavy velvet curtains on the large bay window turned into pretty yellow-and-white-checked chintz ones with bleached eyelet ruffles. The solid stone walls were covered with smooth, unwrinkled wallpaper, yellowed slightly with age and with pink chintz roses all over it. The cold stone floor, too, was covered in a well-worn wooden one, with various rugs and carpets covering some parts of it. Flowers sprang up where a statue of a raven previously stood, and other assorted frivolous trinkets popped up here and there where nothing but open space had been before. All the ebony furnishings that were of the same theme had turned into mismatched (but oddly complimentary to each other) chestnut, hickory, and oak pieces. Whereas crimson, grey, black, and gold were the main colours in the original room, now they were yellow, pale pink, brown and white. Candles were exchanged for fluorescent kerosene-style lamps, none of them matching, but all of a pale rose colour. Now his room looked like something from his mother's house, complete with a Victorian plush couch just like hers. Onto this he plunked down with a sigh. He used this redecorating charm very often. He liked it. After a moment of taking in the surroundings, he urged himself to get up and begin unpacking.

A moment later, he heard a scream from across the hall. Urgently, he dropped the stack of socks he was holding, rushed out, and went through McGonagall's slightly ajar door.

Her room was very simple, and sparsely furnished, but, altogether comfortable and uncluttered. The walls were of a dark emerald green leaf pattern that rippled gently as though blowing in a slight breeze. Dark rosewood seemed to be the preferred wood, for the large roll-top desk, heavily-cushioned rocker, straight-backed swivel chair, bedstead, side table, and wardrobe were all of that. A heavy hope chest was positioned at the foot of the bed, and on it, a single white candle burned, emitting a warm woodsy scent like a forest in summer. A worn phonograph played a crystal-clear recording of a nameless cello solo with accompanying piano. The curtains were of a deep maroon chiffon with gold tassels. The bedspread was a beautiful white quilt with green leaf patterns covering it in a lattice criss-cross pattern. Two potted trees grew on either side of the head of the bed, and they bent over towards each other, creating a sort of curtain over a third of the bed. On a side-table lay the bottles McGonagall had confiscated, one uncorked and the memory from within it swirling in a pensieve. McGonagall had collapsed in her rocker, and was staring in horror ahead of her, though there was nothing there but her bed.

"Professor McGonagall!" exclaimed De Rhone, and hurried to her side. "Are you all right?" he asked, taking her hand most informally and tapping it hard thrice. She shook her head in coming out of her state of shock.

"He was…beating her," she whispered. "Tobias was beating Eileen over the head with his stick. I knew their marriage went unhappily, but…I never…dreamed the Snape's got on _that_ badly…and right in front of their young son too, how could he!...No wonder Severus is so…so…cruel, if…that was the sort of thing he exposed to so often…and at such a young age." She paused a moment. She then went on, dreamily, as though talking to herself. "Eileen was a good girl, for all that, despite the fact that she was Slytherin. We were somewhat friends, and she was one of my best students in her year." Minerva added more sharply, "She did not deserve what she got, in her husband, or her son. I wonder if she even is still alive, after all, and what became of her."

Snape-De Rhone, ignoring her comments, got up to fetch a glass of water from the basin by the bed. He held it to her lips. "Come now, drink this, you've had a nasty shock." Obediently, Minerva took the glass and sipped its contents. "Perhaps I should take care of disposing the rest of the memories," he suggested.

McGonagall nodded vigorously. "Yes, do. My curiosity was too much to handle." She pushed her glasses back up her nose from they had slipped down. "I'm sorry for acting so foolish; I'm all right now, really. It is just so horrible to see one's friends being mistreated like that…yes, thanks, I'm certain I've recovered." She stood up, straightened her shawl, patted down her hair, and looked no worse for the venture.

"All right, if you're sure you're ok," replied De Rhone-Snape, gathering up the bottles, and he passed out of the room back into his own.

So McGonagall was friends with his mother, eh? Well, well, well, he had never known that. Mother never talked much about her friends at all, and had never even mentioned McGonagall except in passing. Even then she had never intimated that she was friendly with her. What odd things fate and time were!

Snape was stricken also by how Minerva had described him as 'cruel.' Was he cruel? Very possibly, yes. He didn't have a hard time in believing it; he just had never thought of himself in that way.

It took Snape ten more minutes to organize his things in the desk and wardrobes. The bottles he did not dispose of, however, and he combined many of the memories together into larger bottles (sherry bottles he had found in a vase near the Room of Requirement near the end of last year and kept for this purpose—odd place to discover them, but very useful nevertheless) before stuffing them in his now-empty trunk for safekeeping. This he stowed in the closet, along with his old trunk, which he had left here in his hasty flight last summer. It had been shoved unceremoniously in the old wardrobe by the house-elves, who knew naught better to do with it. They were accustomed to people taking their trunks and other belongings when they left Hogwarts for good.

Usually, he just went to bed after the feasts. Too much food and too much liveliness made him irritable and headachy. But tonight he figured on staying up for a little longer, just to think.

In his mind, he had been creating a character for Gary De Rhone. It didn't matter if the real Gary De Rhone had been an alcoholic and not a very nice man, a charming lady-killer, or an adventurous Indiana Jones-ish person, because he was a foreigner with no real connections in England, unless they were in the Muggle world. No one would know if he wasn't quite acting like he usually did. So Snape created a personality that fitted the looks of Gary De Rhone: Quiet, compassionate, a good listener, a chap with a healthy sense of humour, and everything else Snape was not. "A good chum" the friends of someone like Gary De Rhone might have called him. "A… (ahem)…most decent man." the very best of acquaintances of Snape might have called him. Snape was well aware of the large gap between himself and the imagined Gary De Rhone. He was quite prepared, however, to take on the task of bridging the gap.

Snape didn't want to be cold and stern and mean and hated. Who in their right mind would? It was just that he was so accustomed to being that way, he couldn't stop. His past influenced his personality too much, and Snape understood that. But he couldn't make himself forget his past enough to prevent it from marring his future, and himself. This was not how Gary De Rhone was going to be, though. Snape was going to act out the part of a person so extremely diverse from him, and he might savour being his character as long as his incognito lasted.

With all this in his mind, Snape drifted off to sleep without even bothering to change into bedclothes or moving into bed, much less noticing the fact he was still dressed.

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Back at Home—Fred and Tam and George on OoP operation on brooms. romantic moment

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_

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Hate it? Still review.

Love it? Especially review. 

_Main point: REVIEW PLEASE! _


	6. Chapter 7

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

Chapter 7 

Snape woke up abruptly at midnight, shivering, slightly befuddled, and bemused as to why he was stiff all over and not in pyjamas and not in bed. Still not quite clearheaded, he kicked off his boots onto the floor where they landed topsy-turvy. Not caring, drowsily Snape crawled under the covers of his bed. Moments later, he was back to sleep.

Severus was up by 6 o'clock. After muttering the redecorating charm again and setting his room back to normal, he went out into the halls. He stopped briefly by Mrs. McGonagall's office to pick up his attendance list and schedule. Mrs. McGonagall was the new headmistress. Severus did not envy her. With all his papers in hand, he headed towards the great hall for breakfast.

Meals were his least favourite time of day. At the staff table, he sat sullen in his usual place at the far end. He said little more than 'pass the butter please;' likewise, no one spoke much to him. So instead, to give himself a pretence of being busy, he read through his new attendance lists to see who he would be teaching this year.

When he reached the paper for the 7th year level N.E.W.T class, he was in for somewhat of a shock: Three Gryffindor names were among the list--Hermione Granger (she he had expected) but along with her were Dean Thomas and…Harry Potter. No, oh no, this was too much to handle. Undoubtedly this was the work of McGonagall. But, with a sinking heart, Snape remembered that Potter _had_ passed all the tests, perhaps not with all O's like Hermione, but all with at least E's. Feeling hurt, Snape left his toast and hurried to his classroom, where he contented himself with sulking.

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Harry and Hermione, Ron, and Neville walked down the hall leisurely. Hermione had been made, predictably, Head Girl, and was gloating over it. Almost radiant as Hermione was Neville, for he had been made a Prefect this year. "…And my Grand-mum, she was just ever so pleased when I showed her my new badge, that we went and showed my--" He broke off suddenly, apparently feeling he was treading in dangerous waters. His friends understood what he meant, though. Neville's parents were in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies after they went insane by being tortured by Voldemort. Neville was very sensitive on this subject, and who could blame him? The only students (currently) at Hogwarts who knew were Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, and they never had told a soul.

Speaking of Ginny, they catapulted right into her as they turned a corner. She had been made the female Gryffindor Prefect, and she was just as happy as Neville and Hermione.

"Oh, there you are!" She was grinning breathlessly. "Just was telling off some second years from setting dung bombs outside Professor Firenze's room. You know, this Prefect thing isn't at all as bad as Percy made it out to be."

Ron sighed contentedly. "I'm glad not to be a Prefect, though. It felt awkward being able to tell people what to do. What I mean is," he explained hurriedly, realizing he had said that in front of two new prefects, "I didn't like having authority. I'm just so used to people telling ME what I can and can't do that I couldn't get used to it." He looked exasperatedly from Neville to Ginny, searching anxiously for any signs of offence or displeasure. To his relief, both were in good moods and laughed.

"Actually, I feel like that a little, too" confided Neville. "Grand-mum always gets on my back so often at home that it's a bit weird, if you know what I mean, being able to just tell anyone to stop it--and they do! And," he continued, "Did you notice Draco Malfoy isn't here?"

Everyone agreed that it had been predictable after what he had done last year, but that it was indeed a blessing anyways, and split up around the corner to go to their first classes; Hermione and Harry to a N.E.W.T. Defence Against the Dark Arts, Ginny to 6th Year Potions, and Neville and Ron to Transfiguration.

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Snape looked disinterestedly at his new 6th year N.E.W.T. class, which consisted only of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. It looked just as ordinary as his previous 5th year class, with some minor subtractions from it.

Four Gryffindor boys were there--David Autumnrook, Evan Holmes, Colin Creevy, and Danny Darkoe. David was a medium-height, athletic boy with long blondish hair, and a great favourite with almost everyone. Evan was stocky, black-haired, quiet, suspicious of everyone and everything, and wore glasses. Everyone called him "Pongo" for some reason no one could remember. Colin, of course, we remember best as 'the little boy with the camera!!!' (but he isn't so little anymore!) Danny was small in every way, but he was like a black-haired version of Fred or George, in personality and in freckles.

There were, nevertheless, all seven of the sixth year Ravenclaw boys. Tyler Fowler, Willie Meddlenot, Kyle Wolf, Aaron Quinn, Alex St. Mary, Wilkes O'Reilly, and James McPhee made up the congregation. Tyler was a somewhat nerdy-looking boy with sandy blonde hair, glasses, and a perpetual laughing glint in his grey eyes that matched his comedic personality. Willie Meddlenot, who somehow fitted his surname quite nicely, looked and acted enough like Peter Pettigrew to be the horrid man's son. Kyle Wolf was a boy somewhat after Snape's own heart—tall, lean, dark, sallow, and almost always donned in black. However, unlike Snape as a boy, he was of a much mellower and more popular personality, had his hair short and spiked, and always wore dark shades over his eyes due to sensitivity to light. Aaron was one of the tallest boys at Hogwarts, and though his countenance looked intelligent and sharp, Snape knew it was only because of the boy's girlfriend's intervention that the boy was even in N.E.W.T.s. He supposed that Quinn would be pulled out of this class by Christmas. Alex St. Mary, on the other hand, was just the opposite; he looked very slow and stupid on the outside, but inside was extremely intelligent. Wilkes O'Reilly was his best friend, and was much the same, with a large stomach and vacant look in his eyes, but an average of 'excellent' grades. James McPhee, the last of the lot, was very intelligent, but had a horrible attitude of supremacy, and Snape detested him almost as much as Harry for just acting like and bearing James Potter's Christian name. 

But then Snape turned his gaze over to the girls, who had, predictably, seated themselves on the opposite side of the room. He began with the Gryffindors—Elizabeth Montpelier, Michele Montessori, Ginny Weasley, and Cherry and Lia Peterson. Elizabeth was an able-looking, wavy-haired blonde Gryffindor who sat with Kristin Spade, a Gryffindor with impossibly curly brown hair, large brown eyes, and darker-toned skin. Ginny was also seated with Kristin and Elizabeth. Michele Montessori had extremely long brown hair, a tanned complexion, and a cheery look She sat with her Ravenclaw friends Erica Cangrejo, a quiet girl of Korean descent, and Baylee Écureuil, a very awake-looking girl of Japanese descent. Lily Murphy, a very dazzling and fresh-looking Ravenclaw brunette, sat cheerily chatting with, or, rather, talking to Erica whilst the latter listened patiently. Next to her sat Mona Perrot, also of Ravenclaw, who resembled Lily very much in character, though was almost a complete contrast in appearance; her hair was jet-black and her skin somewhat darker. Mona was teasing Ava Simpson, a last and very skinny Ravenclaw, who had very thick eyebrows, a hint of a female moustache, and a snobbish air that she tried to disguise unsuccessfully. Despite all the activity around them as everyone chatted, however, the two new girls (Cherry and Lia) sat, sullen and quiet, in a corner, at a desk alone. Snape remembered how Slughorn and McGonagall had been discussing these girl's cases last night at the feast. He forced himself to give them a friendly nod, for the two girls looked as pale and scared as rabbits.

Snape began to teach the lesson. In the midst of it, he asked a trick question involving the properties of heliotrope and oleander. Only two hands shot up in the air as the rest of the class tried to work it out—Miss Elizabeth Montpelier's and Miss Cherry Peterson's. Snape, surprised, called upon the latter, just to see what she could do, knowing that if the girl didn't get it, that Elizabeth (one of the smartest of her class) would. But as for Cherry, she began very shyly, "Um, well, Professor De Rhone…" and then worked out the meaning and answer of the question from beginning to end. Despite the fact that she took a long time in delivering her point, she used large intelligent words and descriptive adjectives. It was all completely correct, and Snape was slightly astonished at this, as was the rest of the class. Her comments earned her many stares, both covert and open; she seemed to shrink back nervously into her seat, and kept quiet for the remainder of the period. Despite this, she seemed to have been taught well. Snape spent a moment reflecting over the advantages of home-schooling over public-schooling.

Snape drew suddenly his attention to his class. He was paid to teach, not to mope over his thoughts. With a disgruntled glance around the room, Snape continued the lesson.

It seemed as though the period would never end. However, it did, and the first class filed out and a small group of intimidated first years filed in. Snape tried his best not to look at them and instead gave his introduction to a bookshelf in the back of the room. He supposed they would all learn to hate him later anyway just because he tried to earn his keep as well as he could, so he didn't try to impress them as being a particularly easy teacher especially. When he successfully got it into their still rather overwhelmed brains what their assignment was, (after loads of questions) Snape tried to focus on creating a formula for a Tripnocious potion that was less complicated and more cost-effective than the original, a sort of continuing-education project of his own design. But he could not contain his thoughts from wandering. He looked from one student to another, looking if he could detect signs of spite towards him already. He may have imagined Timothy Nibblet glare reproachfully at him from behind his book, or he might have not. Was Martha Hobgobbit cowering as his austere glance swept over her, or did she have back problems? With something half grunt, half sigh, Snape settled back into his chair, disregarding his scratch-work entirely, and began to examine his immaculate fingers closely for no reason whatsoever.

But then he remembered that he was not himself anymore. This was not his body. The fingers of Gary De Rhone were short and grimy as opposed to Severus' clean and long ones. They reminded Severus of the role he needed to play. The children did not know who he was; they could not hate him unless he made them. And Professor De Rhone needed to be different from Professor Snape; they could not act the same. Severus thought back to the night before, when he had planned out his character. His new rule: first impulse always will be put on hold and the opposite done instead for the duration of his disguise. So when his first impulse was to assign a long homework assignment to be due the next session, he instead smiled benevolently and bid the entire class have a nice time getting to know each other instead of doing homework the first day. The class filed out at this dismissal, excitedly chattering. Snape felt resentful that he had not given them the assignment, but it would hold until another day.

After the first years left was lunch, but Snape wasn't hungry, possibly feeling delayed after-effects of pickled ham mixing with so much Polyjuice potion. He did, however, allow himself two sections of a chocolate bar (dark, not milk) which boosted his self-esteem by about five nanometres while he tasted it. For what remained of lunch, Snape worked on his equations and charts and graphs, alone, in his office.

After the lunch hour came and went, the 7th year N.E.W.T. students arrived to his classroom. Snape wondered what would go wrong today. Usually, on the first day of every year, for the last sixteen years, Severus would make some kind of stupid mistake with the 7th years. It was more like a curse than anything. In most years, the mistakes had been trivial, and almost no one noticed. And if they did notice, they never brought up the point. But this year, if he went even a hair's breadth off correctness, he knew who would most definitely notice--Hermione Granger. He pondered over what she might think of him in that course of events, and if she knew it was him behind Gary De Rhone. Would she consider him more human? (he hoped not) More foolish? Or would she not see him at all in a different light? But then, he was puzzled as to even why he was thinking all this. What did he care what Hermione thought? He was the teacher, she was the student. Enough said. He realized he was being really very silly indeed and dropped the inquisition completely in his mind.

Class began as normal as it possibly could. Snape 'introduced' himself to the class, smiling in a manner he considered shy but not inept, and gave an overview of his class. When he concluded, he settled down in his chair again. His eyes went from person to person as they began their writing assignment, scrutinizing their every move as a hawk observes their prey. Casually, he rose and began to make his way around the classroom, poking his nose into people's papers, making brief comments here and there. He stopped at the desk Hermione, Harry, and Dean Thomas shared.

As he approached, Harry knocked Hermione's quill from her hand with his elbow.

"Sorry", Harry murmured, and deftly stooped down to get it. Snape leapt at the chance to embarrass him.

"Harry Potter?" he queried menacingly. Harry looked up, startled, and expecting a reprimand. Snape already had one planned out in his brain: "Are you already so bored in this class, Potter, that you must resort to meaningless chatter to relieve yourself? Five points from Gryffindor for talking in class." But almost too late, Snape remembered that he was a different person. Despite the fact that his new principles were hard to follow, he must abide by them. So instead of chastising Potter, he declared "Your, er, your…opening paragraph is, er, quite…ahem, good. Would you, er, mind reading it aloud to the class?" Harry was so surprised that for a half-a-minute or so, he could find nothing to say. "Come on now, um, don't be shy!" encouraged Snape, not at all feeling like saying that.

Then, with a quick forced smile, Harry acknowledged "Yes Professor," and read aloud the opening paragraph.

Snape had to admit; actually, the paragraph was quite acceptable. As Harry read, he copied the paragraph onto the blackboard, correcting it as he went. Snape never would have done this had he not been pretending to be another person, and contented himself with knowing that Harry would never guess that it was not the real Gary De Rhone who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts!

Soon they were halfway through the period. Snape left everyone to their own devices some more to continue writing their paper. He relieved his itching to deduct House points by pouncing on someone for passing notes, but otherwise, he reigned in his temper and kept himself quiet.

Hermione, after a short time, seemed to have finished her essay. Snape noticed this and drifted over loftily. After a quick glance over this, he was left quite stunned. Hermione must have been practicing over the summer, for her writing skills, perfect as they were, had greatly improved. He picked up the paper, and, still reading, took a few steps back. Accidentally, he tripped over someone's bag and fell on the ground. There was a brief ripple of excitement as the class giggled and snickered behind their books and papers. This was his mistake of the day; the curse had not lifted. Ordinarily, Snape would have stood up, fuming, but instead, while in his disguise, he forced himself to laugh quickly. He tossed back the parchment to Hermione, with a nod. "Very well done Miss--" He stopped short, remembering just in time to pretend he did not know her name. "Miss what?" he queried.

"Granger, sir. Hermione Granger."

Snape nodded again. "Well, as I said, very good, Miss Granger. Are you prepared to turn that in?" He found the agreeability of his manner coming out less faked now. Maybe he was getting better used to the part…

Hermione shook her head. "Well, sir, I haven't proofread it or anything--"

Snape breezed the fact away with his hand. "That needs no proofreading. It is perfection in every way as it is." And he meant what he said that time, and wholeheartedly, too.

Hermione flushed a slight pink. "Thank-you Professor."

Snape saw then that the previous day on the train, he had been right when he wanted to say that she looked simply beautiful. Even today, she was irresistibly gorgeous. And yet he saw nothing different from her today than he had last year! He chewed over this for a long time. Suddenly, someone asked, "Professor, are you all right?" Snape was roused from his train of consideration and he jumped. He recalled that for the second time that day, he was stuck revelling in his thoughts. Time seemed to have stopped. Everyone was staring at him, either covertly or openly. He shook his head unthinkingly, feeling like the Peterson girl who had answered the question correctly in class.

"Oh, yes. Thanks, I'm fine."

As he shook his head, he expected to feel the whip of his hair hitting his cheek, and at first forgot why he did not. Then he came back to earth with a bump, and he had almost failed to remember that he was another person. This impersonation thing would take some getting used to, he supposed.

He plunked down on the high-backed wooden chair behind his desk and continued work on his theory. However, his gaze always drifted away from his papers. At first he was puzzled as to what he kept wanting to look at. After a few minutes, though, he realized that it was Miss Granger! Becoming rather scared and unsure of himself, Snape turned his chair abruptly to face the opposite corner. But again and again, he found his eyes focused on her reflection in the gleaming sterling-silver cauldron positioned on his desk.

Whenever she seemed to glance his way, Snape felt a surge of emotion sweep over his body. And even when she didn't, her reflection brought a queer feeling in the depths of him. What puzzled him still more was that he could not, for any great length of time, keep his eyes away from either herself or her reflection. Snape was making pretence of looking at the clock positioned directly above her desk in order to get a shufti of her. Then, from somewhere, Snape remembered this feeling. He had no idea where it originated, or what its focus was, but he remembered it, and remembered it very well. It was a memory once thrust into the darkest recesses of his mind, never to be found again, but somewhere, somehow, it had been forced into the open again. Engaged with curiosity as to what it was in his past that had caused him to first sense this, Snape decided that later he would be taking a trip through his pensieve.

_

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_

Indifferent? Review.

Hate it? Still review.

Love it? Especially review. 

_Main point: REVIEW PLEASE! _


	7. Chapter 8

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

Chapter 8 

Later that evening, when left to his own resources, Snape got out his old pensieve from the locked closet. He wanted to slap himself hard for so foolishly forgetting his bottles of bad memories that anyone could so easily have nipped. Fortunately, he counted all of them, and each and every one he had left was untouched. The house elves, at least, were honest enough to not take or play with things.

Snape emptied several bad memories from his school days in a haphazard manner into the pensieve until it was full of the swirling murky substance that was neither liquid nor gas. Then slowly, very slowly, he let himself be absorbed in them.

When the clouds cleared, Snape was looking at himself in his fifteen-year-old form, lying inert on his bed. It was early morning, and the sun was just rising. Snape surmised that it must be summertime just before he began his fifth year at Hogwarts. He was at home, in the little loft room allotted to him. He heard pounding on the wall behind him. "Sev! Wake up! Come on!" came the muffled voice of his sister through the wall from her room. With a groan and a yawn, young Snape sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard.

"Sylvia! It's Saturday!" he shouted, protesting.

"No." she replied concisely. "I have to go to town today, and I want you to come with me. So get up, get dressed, and come down."

"Another hour. Please!"

"No. I have to get to the market before they run out of pork chops."

"What do you want with pork chops?"

"They're for dinner."

"Oho. So now you're head chef of the family, eh?"

"Oho yourself. You're talking an awful lot today; that's unusual. Did you wake up with fresh vocal chords? Anyhow, Mum said I could cook tonight. So get up--_now_."

Young 'Sev' sighed and got up, shivering slightly, with a glare at the wall behind which his sister was waiting. He was donned in blue and white pinstripe pyjama bottoms and plaid flannel short-sleeved shirt. That was all right in bed, but even in the warm weather, unless you lived in California, it was not a wise idea to walk around in so little. He seized a dressing gown left on the floor and shoved it on. 

Dressing took two minutes, and soon older Snape was following his younger self down the stairs with his teeth bared. He had forgotten for a time how much his little sister had irritated him and teased him.

When he arrived down in the kitchen, Mrs. Snape, by far a younger and prettier Mrs. Snape, sat at the table, sipping coffee idly and reading a book.

"Morning, Mum." young Severus remarked icily.

Apparently she didn't hear him, for she made no reply. Taking no notice, Severus spent the next ten minutes occupied with making toast. When he sat down at the table with it, his mother finally noticed him. "Good morning Severus. Sleep well?"

"Fairly." he replied, nodding.

She looked puzzled, then leaned a little closer to him across the round table. "Sorry dear, what did you say?"

Severus spoke a little more loudly, "Fine, except Sylvia came and demanded I get up. Where is she anyway?"

Mother shook her head. "Severus, you know my ears aren't as good as they used to be. Really, you must learn to talk a little louder than a grumble. I simply can't hear you. Now what did you say?"

Severus said very loudly now, "I SAID I SLEPT JUST FINE."

Mother looked very odd now, but she still didn't seem to have gotten the message. "Severus, please just say it louder."

Young Severus got up, walked over to his mother, and spoke very succinctly into her ear, "I SLEPT VERY WELL, MOTHER, HOW ABOUT YOU?"

Mother stood up, leaving her toast. She seemed to be shaking slightly. "I'll…be right back." she muttered, and left the room. After a few minutes, she came back, with Sylvia in tow. Sylvia was shouting "Mum, I'm leaving with Sev right now. I'll be back in an hour." Mother had her hands on her ears and she looked very queer.

"Sylvia," she said suddenly taking her hands off her ears, "scream. Scream as loud and hard as you can. Just do it!" she added, before Sylvia could protest. Sylvia, questioningly, obeyed, and screamed bloody murder. If there had been any houses in the vicinity, someone would have called the police. However, Mother kept crying, "Louder. Louder! LOUDER! Scream as hard as when that hawk carried off your dog!" In reply, Sylvia shrieked loud enough to shatter glass. Exasperated, she looked expectantly at Mother. Tears were welling up in the other's eyes. "It's happened." she gasped, and fell to the floor upon her knees.

Young Severus was cool and collected on the outside, although older Snape knew he was trembling within. He picked up a stray quill and a grocery receipt from the counter. He wrote on the back of the latter, "_You can hear nothing?" _ and showed it to his mother. Mrs. Snape shook her head.

"No, no nothing!" she cried, leaning against the wall.

Young Severus looked at her very anxiously for a moment, then spoke to his little sister. "Come, Sylvia, we'll take her to Doctor Meyers. He'll know what's to be done." Older Snape watched as they took her out of the house, down the road, and out of sight of the memory. But he didn't need to watch any further to know what happened next. Nothing was going to be able to be done for Mrs. Snape. This was the day she had lost her hearing entirely. Snape knew this had to be one of the worst days of his life. But they did not help him at all with his quest to find the Forbidden Feeling, or so he had named it inside his head.

The clouds were encircling him again. Soon he was watching yet another scene. This one was also the summer before his fifth term at Hogwarts, but it seemed to be after the disastrous day with his mother's lost hearing. A thunder shower raged outside, and the room was gloomy with the light of but one candle. Young Severus, Mrs. Snape, and Sylvia were eating in silence around the small table in the kitchen. Young Severus was helping himself to seconds of some pasta dish that consisted of their entire repast. No one except him seemed to have an appetite. Sylvia seemed to notice this. "Hungry tonight, eh Sev?" Severus shrugged, and then got up from the table quite suddenly, without touching a morsel on his plate.

"Your turn for the dishes, Sylvia."

"No it isn't; I do them on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and every other Sunday. You know that just as well as I do."

Severus shrugged again. "I did them for you last night because you went to talk to your friend Keesha via flu powder right after dinner."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." replied Sylvia, plainly implying that she hadn't. And with that, she got up too. Severus turned on his heel and went up the stairs, unmistakably disturbed.

Young Severus took a shower after that, and got dressed for bed. He was still bearing clear signs of agitation. He got into bed and turned out the light, however, in five minutes, he got up and lit the light again. He stood in front of the body-length mirror in the corner, wearing just his long pyjama bottoms, poking his stomach repeatedly. His lips did not move, but he was thinking furiously. So his voice projected across the memory at some points. The memory was somewhat broken, so not all of it was there. _"…what was Sylvia meaning? That I'm getting fat or something?"_ (Older Snape had to chuckle at this; the boy in the memory could easily have run for world's skinniest fifteen-year-old) Nevertheless, the voice continued, as young Severus kept on poking and prying himself.

_"I guess she's right. But what can I do about it? Go out for Quidditch? No, Quidditch is awful. I'll never even make the team. Well, I could stop eating. That's it; by far the easiest way to go. But how would I go about not eating in a way that mum won't think I'm not eating?"_ With that, young Severus sat down on the bed to think. After a moment, he gave up. _"I'll figure this out tomorrow."_ And he lay back on the bed. But he did not go to sleep; instead he debated with himself over whether he had the energy to get back up and walk to the basin to brush his teeth. In the end, though, he got up again and got out his toothbrush and fluoride toothpaste.

In the midst of the following events, young Severus jammed the toothbrush back too far, and he gagged. He eventually recovered himself, but the slight incident was all he needed for another burst of inspiration.

_"If I don't digest my meals,"_ he thought, _"Then my body won't receive anything from the food. Thus making me thinner."_ He nodded sagely at himself in the mirror._ "And, at the same time, I shall be appearing to eat, so mum_ _won't worry. She's got too much on her hands, anyways. And I won't be hungry, either, gagging all the time. Yes, that's the best way out of this mess…"_ And with that, young Severus went out the door, across the hall, and into the bathroom. After a few minutes, older Severus heard the horrible retching of his forced vomiting. It was not a pretty sound and made his older self cringe involuntarily. A few minutes later, his younger self, looking much more pale and drained, came back in, took a swig of water from the jug on the side-table, and collapsed into the bed. In his mouth, Snape could almost taste the nasty aftertaste of vomiting, one of the worst parts of the plan. He remembered buying and sucking on so many mint candies during this period of bulimia that they were what he spent most of his pocket money on, and his teeth had rotted at a remarkable rate.

The memory swirled thickly. The former scene disappeared. There had been nothing to help him there. Snape didn't know if this was good for him to relive the worst days of his life, but he needed to find the meaning of that feeling. He had figured out that the collection of memories he had poured into here were mainly from his fifth year. They had arranged themselves in chronological order, so it was somewhat like watching a movie with some parts left out.

The memory dissolved away into nothingness, but it faded to the next. Now Snape had landed in the first scene at Hogwarts. It was in the Slytherin common room, and it was late evening. Snow was falling outside, and older Snape guessed the month to be about January or February. There were three boys besides young Severus in the room, two playing chess and one watching them, half-asleep. Young Snape was working feverishly on an essay. He looked horrible; emaciated almost to beyond all recognition. His anorexia had caused his cheeks to fall in, his yellow skin to pale to almost a light sage green, and large bruises covered most of his body from where he had bumped himself, either accidentally or from abuse by the Marauders. Because he was receiving almost no nutrition, they were not healing up very well or quickly. His breath came slowly and unevenly. His fingers were so tender that they were even bruised from writing. Nevertheless, young Snape wrote, not with such vigour as usual, but it was still writing. Older Snape wondered why he had gone bulimic; the results were definitely not very pretty.

Two girls walked in, each hiding something behind her back. Giggling, one approached one of the chess players and slipped a pink glittery paper heart into his hand. Then, still giggling, she dashed away and up the stairs. From this, older Snape was able to ascertain the actual date; February 14th—St. Valentine's day. He still remembered the desperation he had felt in these days when no one ever bothered to send him a valentine. Usually, this was one of the worst days of the year for him, and he always had treated it as any other day, just because it was for him. He did, however, storm around a bit more angrily on these days.

Anyhow, the other girl slowly approached him, hesitantly. When she was about arm's length from him as he sat primly as he could in his weakened condition on the stiff upholstered couch, she suddenly proffered to him, without a hint of emotion, an enormous box of candy. "This is from my friend," she explained dully in monotone. "She thinks you'll actually eat it all. Then, she thinks you'll round out a little more and be less of an eyesore to the rest of us. Or so is her theory." She stared at him uninterestedly. Young Snape had laid down, with a slight grimace, his quill, and now stared at her with sadness disguised as aloofness.

"And…?" he questioned haughtily.

The girl shrugged. "If you don't want it, I get to take it upstairs and we have a chocolate feast. But," she added hastily, "That's only if you don't want it."

"Do you want me to have it?" This was, probably, the first time any girl had talked directly to him in the last week. Young Snape responded to the situation by speaking as little as possible.

"No, but then, I didn't buy it" the girl said simply. Snape stared at the pretty box, shaped like a heart with lots of frilly bows and lace. It was just the sort of thing that a girl would choose as a present.

"If it was a sentimental gift," he said sombrely. "I might take it, but, as it is not, I could do better without it."

"Actually," the girl said, "The whole point of the scam was that you would do better _with_ it, but, then, it might not even take any effect on you at all, and you still would be the same old revolting ugly Severus as before. So I assume you don't want it?"

"Precisely." Snape was used to the other students making fun of him to his face. He had grown to tolerate it, and even ignore it.

"Ok then, if you say so." With that, the girl turned around and slowly walked away, pulling off the ribbons from the box and opening it. Snape turned back to his work. The girl, as she approached the doorway to the stairs, turned around and, slowly drew a chocolate very deliberately from the box and placed it in her mouth, making loud undignified smacking noises as she enjoyed it. Getting no response from him, she shrugged, turned back to the stairs, and climbed up.

That, older Severus remembered, had been the only Valentine's gift ever offered to him, except as a matter of course from the other teachers in his adulthood, and it had not even been out of pure kindness. He sometimes wondered if, there had been a girl that he had been able to unburden himself to, if a girl ever had been as attracted to him as he was to her, that fact would have been different.

The memories swirled and swirled again. It was now sometime in April (a calendar clock on the wall showed the month,) and his younger self was sitting, alone, in a back corner desk, in Professor Binn's class. (Binns was a ghost at even this time.) He also noticed that his boy self was having trouble seeing the board due to the portly form of the student in front of him, and that he had to crane his neck with undue exertion in order to copy what was written for his homework. Suddenly, in the midst of Binn's lecture, he gave a little gasp and fell forward on the desk. No one noticed how he had fainted. Then the memory went dark, and began swirling again.

That short scene didn't help at all with Snape's aim. He figured, and figured correctly, that the next would be a hospital scene.

Madame Jacobs, the equivalent of Madame Pomfrey then, was trying to administer young Severus some soup. He forced it away so violently that most of the soup ended up on the sheets than inside him, however he did accidentally swallow some. He then tried to prove to Madame Jacobs that he was as strong as ever by getting out of bed, but he was about as successful at standing on his own as a newborn foal. He was hustled back into bed, but there was nothing anyone could do with him. He force-vomited almost automatically when Madame Jacobs went in the other room. She came back, the Marauders trailing behind her.

"Look Severus, you have some visitors!" she declared exasperatedly.

A hazy thought boomed through the memory, saying: _"She's just dragged them in as they passed and probably bribed them to encourage me to eat." _

Lupin, Peter, Sirius and James approached him. Older Snape realized that his younger self was indeed very shrewd and entirely correct in his assumption that they had been bribed to feed him, for James and Sirius brandished large chocolate bars, although Lupin had his sticking out of his pocket. Peter was already eating his. He also had been right, he knew, that the Marauders did not come of their own accord; Madame Jacobs insisted that they come in and help her as they were passing the hospital wing door on their way to do mischief somewhere. Perhaps she had thought that influence of his fellow students would make him eat or some such nonsense. So Severus pretended to be asleep. Lupin did try and keep his word to Madame Jacobs, and proffered more soup, but Sirius and James began a rowdy game of tag underneath and around the empty beds that they somehow dragged Peter into. The memory was extremely hazy, and Severus kept closing his eyes, so it was like a power outage with the lights flickering on and off. The memory, all in all, was not very good, and older Snape was glad when finally the memories began to swirl again.

Again, his search had been fruitless. But the next memory was already swirling around him in a dizzying manner. Snape counted how many he had to go; he had put in six, and this was the last one. He hoped this one would shed more light on the Forbidden Feeling than the previous five.

The memories stopped their swirling, and showed young Severus, still in his fifth year, sitting under a tree in the gardens one fine afternoon with a book. Apparently Severus had ironed out the kink in his brain that compelled him to be bulimic, because he was no longer so bruised or sallow, but he was still unnaturally thin. Older Severus remembered that Madame Jacobs and Dumbledore, then headmaster, had threatened to expel him if he didn't eat. That had put him in line well enough. Severus was not going to forfeit his education for his looks.

Anyhow, young Severus leaned against the tree, completely absorbed in his potions book. Yes indeed, this was the very book that Harry had discovered later and used, to his own success. Older Severus barred his teeth as he watched the pencil in his younger hand write at a rapid pace in the margins. If only he had not written all of that down in there, written it in some notepad or other source, Potter never would have found it, and would never have been able to achieve good grades or Slughorn's affection.

Other students were meandering out of the castle in groups of three or four. One such group wandered in the general direction of young Severus. It was composed of four girls. Older Snape strained to remember their names. One was Slytherin Tabitha Trickelback, who was a rather stout, pig-like girl, the one who had tried to give him the chocolates on St. Valentine's day. Another was Hufflepuff Miranda something-he-could-not-remember, rather pretty, but with a far-away glint in her eye that caused one to assume that she was eternally in La-La Land. Then there was Ravenclaw Tiffany Melstocking, a black-haired, intelligent-looking girl who was very observant. (She was the only person in the world who had a nose even remotely reminiscent of his.) Lastly, there was the gem of the group--Slytherin Celeste Montgomery.

Celeste Montgomery was probably the most beautiful creature in the school. She had waist-long, thick silky chestnut hair and big, beautiful blue eyes that shone like stars when she was happy. Her daintily manicured hands were long and slender, but, as Snape had observed in his classes, completely inept at everything. Young Severus, at her approach, stood abruptly and closed his book. As they walked on, he kept close on their tail.

After a time, the group stopped beneath a plum tree. Celeste and her friends jumped to try and reach one of the succulent fruits, but could not reach one. Gallantly, Severus climbed up the tree himself and brought some down some to them. Without a word of thanks or recognition (except the girl named Tiffany raising her eyebrows questioningly at him), the girls took the plums from his arms and left him standing there empty-handed. As they went out of earshot, Severus heard Tabitha murmur, "Why does Snivellus follow you around everywhere, Celeste? Do you think he likes you?"

"I most certainly hope not!" laughed Celeste in reply. "He's so rude and mean!"

"Not to you, he isn't!" And chattering, the girls continued on their way.

Young Severus sensed that perhaps the girls had purposefully said that within his hearing, to try and discourage him. He looked upon that as hopeful for him; perhaps Celeste secretly admired him but just wasn't wanting to make that known to him. Maybe she stressed his worse qualities in front of her friends because she wanted it to seem as though she didn't like him, when, in fact, she did. He hoped this was the case, at any rate.

Older Severus could remember that he had once felt, ever since his first year at Hogwarts, a fatal attraction for Celeste. Almost never was she completely out of either his sight or his mind. Even a glimpse of her brought a queer feeling in the depths of him. Indeed, he intended to ask her to marry him in later years, but that had been before his Death Eater days…all of a sudden, he remembered his quest. The way he had felt in the past for Celeste was identical to the way he now felt for Hermione Granger!

Severus slipped out of the pensieve in the middle of that memory, which hadn't quite ended yet, so shocked he was almost on the verge of swooning. How could this be? He love Hermione Granger?!! This was not right; no indeed, this was NOT RIGHT. It made no sense. But, on the other hand, it did all make sense, now. His wanting constantly to keep an eye on her in class, his stomach knotting up whenever she looked at him, his odd impulses to say kind things to her, and everything else made sense now. He was in love with the best friend of his archenemy. But why should he care so for her? She was years younger than him, not especially a beauty, and he never had felt anything other than malice towards her, because she was in Gryffindor, Potter's house.

Probably this was just a flying fancy. It was very likely that he just felt very proud of her achievements unconsciously, and this had turned into affection. It might be over with in a week, and a month, in a year at longest. He wasn't really sure if he was the kind to have these flying fancies, though; indeed, the only girl he had ever felt any sort of affection for before was Celeste. That had lasted from his first year at Hogwarts until her death at the hand of Lucius Malfoy, when Snape worked for Voldemort, when Lucius and fellow Death Eaters raided her estate. (Her family were very strong supporters and financiers of the Ministry at that time.) Actually, for a long time after that, Snape seemed to lose interest in the entire Death Eater regime, and only remained in it because he was bound with death as the punishment for abandonment. Probably the reason he lost inertest was because the girl he had loved for years had died at the hands of it. Also, it was probably the reason that he had never since wished or tried to pursue anything more than a steady bachelor lifestyle. He saw that now.

Snape glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was 7:40, forty minutes after he had begun going through his memories. It was not at all late; however, Snape undressed and flung himself into bed, almost forgetting to turn out the light before he crawled under the covers. In the morning, he would be better (for the entire feeling he considered to be some loose screw in his brain) and tomorrow he would worry about it if he wasn't over it yet. There would be plenty of time then. And with that, Snape drifted off into dreamland.

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	8. Chapter 9

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

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Chapter 9 

A sliding noise and the rustling of paper at his door made Snape look up as he was dressing early on Saturday morning, before breakfast. A note had been pushed through one of the cracks between the doorjamb and the floor with very little reverence. Snape picked it up, opened it, and read it. It was an invitation to the annual First-Saturday staff party in the teacher's lounge. Well, well, well. This was new. Never had he been invited to one of these before, not as plain old Snape. Not that he would have attended, anyhow. No matter, though. Gary De Rhone, however, must attend this. He consoled himself that it would have been fun for someone young like Gary De Rhone, and that it would have looked suspicious had he not shown up. And so he made his mind up to go to the party.

At lunch later that day, Snape-De Rhone spent most of the time 'introducing' himself repeatedly as teachers filed in and out. After lingering over his meal much longer than he usually would have because of how much he was talking and not eating, he went on a tour of Hogwarts 'guided' by an emphatic Slughorn. Mostly that consisted of wandering about aimlessly and being lectured on every object they met with in every room. Snape probably learned one thousand limericks too much during the time he passed with Slughorn. By then it was teatime, which the supposedly American De Rhone did not partake in, so Slughorn toddled off on his own. Instead, Snape took to his room, where he discovered that his mother had packed a box of some mystery books by what had been for a rather long time her favourite author, Alicia Stormbreaker. She had enchanted them, unfortunately, to start screaming if he put off reading them too long. She also had enclosed a survey for each one, asking him to fill them out as he read them. Mainly they consisted of 'did you like the book,' 'what did you like about the book,' 'what did you not like about the book' and so on, so he decided, well, why not humour her and read them, make her happy. So he spent all his time until dinner engrossed in _The Altar Ghost, _a very spooky novel about a supposed ghost that runs amuck in a church, destroying icons of Baby Jesus and the Virgin Mary, until it actually kills a man Snape had already concluded that the Mr. Brown did it in the conservatory with the knife by the three-hundred-and-ninety-seventh page, when he had to stop reading in order to dress for dinner.

That night was not a feast, but it was a dress-affair, with dancing to the wireless radio and 'adult beverages.' It was more of an unofficial cocktail-party than a true dinner, since it was served in the teacher's lounge and you ate wherever whenever you wanted, on the couch, on the counter, or on the floor; just not at or on a table, because the food went there. True, it was hard for someone like Snape so accustomed to being discourteous and vindictive to alter his manner so absolutely to behave in such an opposite manner, but he was trying, and trying well. He laughed at the jokes with everyone else even as the night got later and later and the older folks left and the food got colder and colder and the jokes got poorer and poorer. Soon it was just him, a pretty Professor named Ellen Trenton who taught Ancient Runes, Hagrid and Trelawney who remained in the lounge, all of whom were slightly tipsy (excepting Trelawney, who was very!) and better off in bed. Severus found himself mentioning the Alicia Stormbreaker he was reading, and Ellen told him the ending of the book (for she already had read it before); that it was not Mr. Brown in the conservatory with the knife, but Mrs. Goldenrod with the rake in the cupboard. Nothing else of interest happened except that Severus retired to bed at a very late hour and finished reading the book at one even later (or earlier?) only to find that she was correct.

The next day Severus woke late and vowed that next year he would not go to it next year, be he incognito or not. That day passed quickly and uninterestingly and this is where we shall leave our murderous traitor for now.

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The weekend dawned upon them all too slowly. But when it finally arrived, the time seemed to slip through their fingers…

Visiting Hagrid

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Later, Hermione, Harry, and Ron were alone in the Gryffindor common room on Sunday evening. It was a little late, but Ron and Harry were at it again, madly engaged in a game of chess that had been going on for an hour already, and Hermione was reading a novel in her favourite chair just overlooking them. Harry seemed to be at a point where he had no more options, but then, Ron hadn't said "Checkmate," so there must be a way out somewhere. He was most perplexed. Ron obviously saw a way out of his dilemma and was grinning impishly. Hermione remained, aloof and uninterested in their game, engrossed in her book instead.

"Come on Ron, be a sport" moaned Harry, his head in his hands in mock distress. Ron chuckled and didn't reply. As an alternative, he turned to annoy Hermione while Harry figured out his move. "Hermione!" he exclaimed. When she did not reply, he repeated himself. "Hermione!" But when she did not reply a second time, and instead turned a page, Ron tapped her on the shoulder. "Earth to Hermione!" he droned in monotone, imitating a radio operator. "Come in, Hermione." She looked up finally. "What!?" she exclaimed exasperatedly, clearly quite annoyed.

"Do _you_ see a way out for Harry?" asked Ron, clearly implying that the answer was very obvious. Hermione shook her head almost without looking at the board. "You know I'm bad at chess. Now leave me alone; I'm just at the climax."

"Aha! The knight!" exclaimed Harry from the table, and triumphantly moved his piece. The tables of fate had turned from favouring Ron to Harry.

"Checkmate, I win!" he stated as the crazy magic pieces swooped down upon Ron's defenceless king and mauled it. When they had concluded their escapade, Ron swept all the pieces off the table into their wooden box.

"That's the second time you've won against me this year; good job Harry, you might break your old record of four times last year" Then Ron jammed the box shut, latched it, and turned back to Hermione, who had gone back to her reading.

"What's the book? Ahh!" he breathed, scanning the cover, "Pensive Poodles and Pretended Patricide. By whom? Or dare I interrupt you?"

Hermione pretended not to notice his sarcasm. "Alicia Stormbreaker." she murmured, still absorbed within its pages. Ron nodded.

"I've heard of her," he said. In explanatory undertones, Ron clued Harry in.

"This Alicia Stormbreaker person is a really popular who-dunnit writer--"

"--_Detective fiction_ writer, Ron!" corrected Hermione, but Ron took no notice.

"--and, well, she's really a witch, but she writes better than the Muggle champion of mystery writing, Agatha Christie. Or so it's been said." He nodded sagely.

"Have you read any of her books?" asked Harry.

"Yes," Ron admitted, rather shamefacedly. "Two or three. I can remember the titles were something like Blind in Sight and Mind and Stray Hair."

"They don't sound too bad." remarked Harry.

Defensively, almost as though he were arguing, Ron declared, "They aren't bad! In fact, I might have read them all if they weren't my mum's new fad. I don't like to encourage those, you know," he added. Ron then yawned largely. "Finish De Rhone's homework, Harry?"

"Yup. It wasn't too bad, actually. No worse than what Snape might have given out if he was here."

"Yeah, it wasn't all too bad." agreed Hermione. "Professor De Rhone is a good teacher."

"And very handsome too, is he not?" teased Ron.

"Oh, shut up!" glared Hermione. She buried her nose in her book again.

Ron lifted his hands in mock protest. "Oh please, have mercy upon me, a poor pauper at your door who only meant a bit of harmless fun!"

Hermione snorted. Harry tried to revive a kinder breed of conversation.

"His style is just a little too much like Snape's for my taste" he murmured.

"I agree, but then, Snape was, in actual but horrible fact, a good teacher, too. He was just a little too biased with his opinions of students." added Hermione.

"Don't try and find all the good things about him; you're treating him like he's dead, Hermione! It'll be more likely that he'll be the death of us all instead."

"I'm just stating the truth. Even if he hadn't killed Dumbledore and left, I would still say that he was a good teacher. He knew what he was talking about."

"Unlike some." added Harry, thinking of ham-fisted Gilderoy Lockheart.

"Well, I would say the same of this guy," continued Hermione, ignoring Harry's last comment.

"Oh, well, I'm not saying he's a bad teacher, Hermione, but I mean, this man's a dashed bit too young and too handsome, I think, to be teaching at Hogwarts. Think of the boys!" exclaimed Ron defiantly. "I mean, if all the girls are going to be swooning for marvellous, handsome Gary De Rhone, I'd say someone was going to get a little jealous. He's only a few years older than us! And he's a foreigner; that makes him even more enticing."

"Well Ron, I think you would make a very good girl" declared Hermione. She added sarcastically, "You can read our minds as well as if they were chalkboards!" She looked at Ron fuming, then glanced at the clock on the mantel. "It's getting late." she noted, but she didn't stir.

"What do you want to do, Harry? We have twenty minutes of the weekend left." stated Ron, dropping the argument. "Let's go sneak around in the halls under the invisibility cloak or something. I want to feel the rush of adrenaline through my veins again."

"You're unusually reckless tonight." commented Harry.

"What's the risk? Filch's abed with the flu, Snape isn't here anymore, what's the risk? In fact," he continued, "tonight would be an ideal night to some dastardly work somewhere. I'll bet you anything others are up and about too, and they don't even have invisibility cloaks!"

"And what are all these people up and about doing?" mused Hermione, laying down her book.

"Well, the couples might be snogging unobserved in some quiet corner," explained Ron, "and the rogues like me and Harry would be out stealing food from the kitchens or some other such harmless mischief."

"Lovely." replied Hermione noncommittally, then yawned herself and got up. "I'm going to bed, boys. Now the Head Girl is NOT responsible if you sneak out of here. 'Night." And Hermione grabbed her book from the table and trotted quickly up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. Ron and Harry looked at each other a moment, then dashed up the stairs to the boy's dormitories to get the cloak.

Two minutes later, they slowly edged down the stairs underneath it, stepping carefully so that they wouldn't show their feet. The Fat Lady was asleep by now, and they climbed unobserved out of the portrait hole. As they closed it, she was aroused, and she called in a whisper after them. "Going out for a midnight stroll again, boys? Well, have fun…" Ron stuck his hand out of the cloak momentarily to wave, just to scare her. They heard her squeal behind them.

"Where to?" asked Harry.

"Actually, that idea of mine about going to the kitchens wasn't bad at all." replied Ron in a hoarse whisper.

"Ok." replied Harry, and they slowly made their way downstairs.

Soon they arrived at the picture of the bowl of fruit. Within the actual kitchen, a few houselves were clustered in a corner, polishing silver, and the boys delighted in making them shriek as they whisked two chocolate éclairs, some nuts, and three bananas off the sideboard and underneath the cloak. With their pockets bulging, the boys made their way out of the kitchens. Chomping on the nuts, they made their way around the castle, keeping out of the way of Mrs. Norris via the Marauder's map. They were the only dots moving it. Finally, even Mrs. Norris slinked into Filch's office and all was still but them.

For the fun of it, they crept into the teacher's quarters. They paused outside of the doors of each room, trying to detect snoring. The highlight of that mission was when, outside of Professor Sprout's door, they heard her either singing herself to sleep or in her sleep some silly song about a wooden shoe. But one door at the end of the long passage was ajar--the door to Professor De Rhone's room, which had once been Snape's.

"Harry, that's Snape's old bedroom, you know that, right?" hissed Ron almost silently. Harry nodded.

"What's De Rhone doing out, anyways?" They peeked around the doorjamb. The room was exactly as De Rhone had left it, cold, renaissance-style, and very drafty.

"Ooh, spooky atmosphere!" whispered Ron. "This is definitely Snape's kind of room." He looked at Harry under the blanket. "Let's go in."

"What!" whispered Harry. "And if we're caught…"

"Aren't you curious to see if any of Snape's old stuff is here? He left in such a hurry and didn't come back to get things, there's bound to be a bunch of his things here." With that, Ron practically pulled Harry into the room.

But suddenly, Ron seemed to grab common sense by the horns. "Wait, where's De Rhone now? Look on the map."

In reply, Harry hastily got out the map. To his utmost surprise, he could not detect the name of Professor De Rhone on it in any way, shape or form. But he was even more horrified when he saw, or thought he saw, the name of Severus Snape in the garden...but behind them, swiftly, McGonagall's door opened. Harry quickly shoved the map in his pocket again in case they needed to make a quick flight.

McGonagall looked urgent, her brows were knitted together in concentration. She noticed the door of De Rhone's room open, and nodded significantly, as though she had just had some suspicion proved right. She shut and locked her door, and moved slowly towards the door of the room they were in. Harry stole a sidelong glance at Ron, who was silently cursing himself for making them come in. Now they were in big trouble.

McGonagall stuck her head in the door and looked around. Harry waited for her to say something like, "Harry Potter, come out from beneath that invisibility cloak this instant!" but she didn't. In fact, she didn't even come in the room. All she did was shut the door. Then they heard her walking away down the hall quickly.

Ron gave Harry a silent high-five. "Snaps for us!" whispered Harry.

"We were almost done for!" replied Ron. "But now," he continued, "we had better get out of here." So when McGonagall's footsteps died away, they boys raced out of the room back up to the portrait of the Fat Lady. They whispered the password (Trafalgar!) and crept silently up to bed. It had been an eventful night for them.

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Love it? Especially review. 

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	9. Chapter 10

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

Chapter 10 

The effects of the Polyjuice potion had worn off for the evening, and Snape was out in the garden. It was ten to midnight, and the cold bite of frost was in the air. However, Snape sat on a rock, reading and re-reading a letter from his headquarters. He was surprised that his instructions to do a certain something had come so quick, and he was not looking forward to the task ahead of him. He wondered how exactly he was going to set about it…

Suddenly, a rustling in the bushes aroused him from his meditations. He realized that he was shivering slightly from the cold; why had he been so foolish as to not grab an extra robe from his closet? He took out his wand and approached the bushes slowly. Whatever or whomever it was, was not going to get away. Snape produced a wordless temporary freezing charm on the bushes that would last only a minute or so and walked forward boldly, pushing the branches back. He was most surprised and relieved to find only McGonagall there. He had been expecting meddling Potter.

"Minerva!" She was instantly unfrozen, and she stood up, glaring at him.

"You will address me as Professor McGonagall, not by my Christian name!" she pronounced loftily, and she drew her wand. To her surprise, Snape threw his to the ground in surrender. "I bid you no harm, Professor, if you wish a friend to call you as such."

She was ultimately surprised; she had probably been expecting a fight. "What is the meaning of this, Severus?" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Why did you kill Albus? What is going on here? And where is Professor De Rhone?"

Severus shook his head sagely. "One question at a time, please, Professor. Firstly, as to De Rhone, he is right here."

Looking at him incredulously, she murmured, "Polyjuice potion?"

"Yes, that's right, and a good bit of acting, too."

She nodded thoughtfully. "You're right on that point. I never would have guessed you were behind Gary De Rhone in a thousand years."

He smiled slowly. "And I think the remainder of your questions can be answered by reading this letter." He tossed it over to her.

McGonagall perused the paper for some minutes, then raised her eyes again to Severus. "Oh, Severus, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed simply.

"It's all right. You only thought what you were meant to think."

McGonagall sat down next to him on the rock. "I'll never forgive myself for thinking some of the things I thought about you over the summer." she replied. "But why didn't you tell me about your little--er--drama with Albus?"

"Too many cooks spoil the broth, Professor."

"Oh, yes, and you call me Minerva again, you hear! I know I told you not to, but…oh, never mind."

"Very well, Minerva."

They sat in silence for some minutes. Then McGonagall continued, "So, no one else is to know until he writes with the o-k?"

"Exactly."

"Mhm. But what did you do with yourself over the summer?"

"I've been hanging about in the Dark Lord's back pocket most of the time, but the rest of it I spent keeping Draco and Narcissa Malfoy out of hot water," Snape replied noncommittally.

"Ah. And where are those two? How are they faring?"

"I haven't seen them since July, but I think they are rather learning to adapt to the Amazonian Jungle by now."

"Why'd you take them there?"

"Because I thought it would be funny watching them try and live out there, the stupid stuck-up lazy cowardly lot of them." He smiled mercilessly. But with that, he rose.

"Come now, Minerva, it's getting late. We'd better be getting up to bed." And McGonagall followed him back up to the castle.

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Hermione strode up the stairs two at a time into the girl's dormitories. It was rather late, and she stopped to listen by each door to make sure none of the girls were busy giggling to each other and were all asleep, one of her official duties. In the first years' and the third years', all were abed and sleeping. In the fourth and fifth years,' they were just turning out the lights. The second years' had the lights out, but were telling stories in the dark. Hermione advised them to get to sleep, and went to check the sixth years' dorm. Here she met with somewhat of a surprise--no one seemed ready at all to get to bed, and the lights were all ablaze. Hermione decided that she would come back to check on them in five minutes after she had changed, then raid their party if the lights weren't out. So Hermione went to her dorm to change.

She actually took ten minutes to finish brushing out her hair, put it in a scrunchie, and get into pyjamas, but light still shone from under the door of the sixth years' room by the time she got there. Determinedly, she burst into the room.

Ginny Weasley, Elizabeth Montpelier, Michele Montessori, Holly Nova, and Kristin Spade, last year's fifth year class, were all sitting on their beds, donned in their bedclothes, but talking animatedly and engaging in such girlish fancies as painting their nails, braiding each other's hair, and talking about boyfriends and crushes. Quiet and sullen, the two new Peterson girls lay in their beds with books.

The two twins were named, as Hermione knew, Lia and Cherry, but other than that, she knew very little about them. She guessed they were actually more her age rather than the ages of the other sixth years, and that Lia was the older. Both were red haired, but it was a different red than the Weasleys', and was more of a darker shade rather than fiery-orange-red. Cherry was two inches shorter and quite a bit rounder than her sister, but their only other visible physical difference between them was their eye colour--Cherry was blue-eyed, Lia was green-eyed. Hermione also gathered that they were new to the school, since they were not there last year, or any of the years before that.

Neither looked very happy, and instead of communicating verbally to each other, they passed a large pad of parchment, on which they wrote then passed to the other, who wrote something in reply. As she stepped in, Hermione caught a glimpse of what was written on the pad, but found it unintelligible to her. It was probably some secret language of their own design. She gave the green-eyed one a kindly look, and marched over to Ginny.

"Why aren't you all sleeping?" she demanded. "You're a prefect, Ginny, you should know enough to be able to turn out the lights on time. It's nearly midnight, and on a Sunday evening, too!" she added, even though it was twenty till.

"Sorry," laughed Ginny, who had just been relating an anecdote involving a cat and a bottle of butterbeer. "You're right; we should all be in bed. Sugar high! That's all the problem. Hey, are we keeping everyone else up? I hope not."

"No," replied Hermione truthfully. She took another look at the new girls, who now were putting away their books; the one called Lia placing hers neatly on the bedside table, and the one named Cherry throwing hers onto it, but it missed the table and fell in the wastebasket.

"Rats!" the latter exclaimed, but instead of making a motion to rectify her mistake, just pulled the covers over above her head and placed the pillow on top, looking as though she was trying to suffocate herself.

"Are you ok?" asked Hermione, poking her. With a start, Cherry sat bolt upright. "Pardon?"

"Oh" replied Hermione "Sorry, I thought you were ill."

Cherry shook her head, still sitting up. "No, I'm fine. Sometimes I sleep like that. Thanks for checking, though." But it was only when Hermione turned away from her did she lay down again. Hermione wondered why she had said "pardon?" when aroused, and why she just hadn't said "what?" or "huh?" like any person usually would. But the mystery dwelled in her mind only for about half a second.

Hermione then looked at Lia Peterson, who was making a feeble attempt at sleep even though it was apparent that she was very awake. She felt sorry for the pair; how hard it must be to be new! Everyone had friends except them, and it seemed that the other sixth years had not made any advances towards friendliness. Hermione, at once, was determined to give these girls a chance. So, she plunked down next to Ginny on her bed and whispered, "Ginny, I'm really ashamed of you. You should be nice to those Peterson girls. Have you noticed how sad they look?"

Ginny shrugged. "We invite them to do things with us, but they don't want to do anything. They're so stuck up!"

"Yeah," agreed Kristin in a whisper, moving from her bed to Ginny's, "They've got their own secret language, and they're so quiet! Who knows what's going on in their heads!"

"All they ever seem to do is practice their instruments, especially that Cherry. She spends hours on her piano!" continued Ginny.

"I kind of agree with Hermione." Elizabeth had joined the group on Ginny's bed. 

"Me too" interposed Holly, who had stepped over too. By now, everyone but the Petersons themselves had gathered on Ginny's bed, and they all talked in hushed whispers.

"Me three. We should maybe give them a chance. They might be really nice." remarked Michele. She added, "Cherry helped me in Potions today. She seemed like she wants to be friends."

Elizabeth added hopefully, "And Lia asked me to assist her in Arithmancy on Wednesday. She didn't seem snooty to me. She just seemed really shy."

Ginny looked somewhat crestfallen. "Ok, so we'll try them. Just remember that we've not even known them a week. And if they turn out to be total snobs, don't blame me."

Kristin put in, "I hope we wouldn't be debating over whose fault it is that they are 'total snobs,' Ginny."

Holly nodded in agreement. "I just hope they're as nice as they look."

Hermione was pleased that they had come to a conclusion so promptly.

"That's good. Just try them for a week, see what they're like. It'll be too bad if they're not nice, but I really think they will be. Now," she added, "GO TO BED!"

With that, everyone got up and into their own beds. Hermione herself turned out the lights, and, very softly, closed the door on them.

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	10. Chapter 11

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

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Chapter 11 

Monday morning dawned upon the school. Harry, being captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team again this year, had put up a notice for after-school tryouts that afternoon in the common room, and many people had clustered around it. Only a few of the older students lounged around the common room instead of reading the sign, and among those were Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Harry was looking appraisingly at the second years, hoping to spot an ideal replacement for Katie Bell, who was now gone. Slowly, the sixth year girls began to trickle in pairs of two or groups of three down the stairs.

Ron suddenly realized he had left his homework upstairs, so he ran up to get it. Just then, Cherry and Lia Peterson came down the stairs. They separated almost immediately; Cherry went off to join the cluster of people surrounding the notice, and Lia advanced hesitatingly towards Hermione and Harry. She smiled at them and put forth a hand to shake.

"Hi, I'm Lia." she announced. "I'm new here."

"Nice to meet you; I'm Harry Potter" replied Harry, "And this is my friend Hermione Granger."

"A pleasure I'm sure," responded Hermione warmly.

Lia looked keenly at Harry. "You aren't--THE Harry Potter, are you?"

Harry nodded uncomfortably. "Uh, yeah. I am."

"Wow. That's so cool!" She didn't even ask to see his scar. Harry added two bonus points to her for that. She continued, "I've heard so much about you."

Harry shrugged. "Most people have" he said nonchalantly.

"I'm sorry for not introducing myself sooner" went on Lia. "You see, I've been kinda nervous about meeting new people. I mean, this is the first time I've ever been to school or met anyone my age besides my sister."

"Wow" commented Harry, succeeding in looking both impressed and sorry at the same time. "But didn't you ever go to a Muggle school?"

Lia shook her head no. "Our parents home-schooled us from when we were little kids until we completed Muggle fifth grade. After that, our Uncle Steve continued the tradition of keeping us away from people when he taught us about wizardry." She sighed, thinking of the past.

"So you didn't have ANY friends your age at all?" exclaimed Harry "How did you survive?!"

Lia replied simply, "I don't know. I mean, Cherry's all right. We've always got on pretty well."

"But why," asked Hermione incredulously, "were you so isolated from the rest of the world? And how is that possible to do, anyhow?"

Lia seemed quite interested in talking for someone who had never talked to other people her age before. "Well" she began, "My parents thought it was best not to expose us to the evil of the world. So they shielded us to a very far extent, so far that we never were able to live the normal life of others. Instead, they home-schooled us from preschool to fifth grade, and they encouraged us to broaden our horizons by training our artistic skills. Cherry was a great deal better at that than me; she can paint (but not draw) like Da Vinci, she can sing passably, she can dance pretty well, she can play eight instruments, she even writes her own music…well, you get the picture; she's the family prodigy"

"Whoa--eight instruments!" exclaimed Harry. "What does she play?"

"Oboe, harpsichord, flute, viola, violin, cello, harp, Glockenspiel, and piano. She loves the last one; it's her special pet. Oh, darn, wait, I forgot the balalaika. That actually makes nine."

"Wow." commented Hermione. Evidently, she knew what 'the balalaika' was. Harry wasn't about to ask Lia now and make himself look less intelligent; he'd ask Hermione later.

Lia continued, "I can just play the violin, and I've been told that I'm really good at singing, too. But that's practically all the talent I contain." She laughed. "So mostly our world was music. Well, and of course, books. We read books all the time, beginning with chapter books at age five, reading Poe, Hawthorne, and Dickens before we were even eight! And Cherry did really well at the rest of her subjects in Muggle school, because she worked very hard. I never did too well in math, but I was able to keep up with her in everything else. Well, when we found out we were wizards like Uncle Steve in fifth grade, he offered to teach us all he knew about magic--which was a lot. We went to go live with him, and he taught us expertly in as much stuff as he could, until his knowledge ran dry. He couldn't teach us any more, but we hadn't finished the curriculum. After a year of just practicing what we knew and not advancing at all, he finally persuaded our parents to let us come here to Hogwarts. And, I guess, even if they hadn't consented, we would still have come, because we're both seventeen. But anyhow, so now," she concluded, "we're here!"

"Et voila!" announced a voice over her shoulder. Cherry had come up behind them, clutching a very large and heavy schoolbag. "So, what's up, Lia?" she queried, her eyes hardening in suspicion at the sight of Harry and Hermione standing near her twin. "Telling them the sad story of our lives?"

"Yeah." replied her sister smilingly.

Cherry frowned. "Mum won't like that, you know. You remember what she said about not complaining about our upbringing to anybody."

Lia shook her head. "Cherry, you know how mum's weird. We're of age now, we don't have to listen to her anymore. If we want to talk behind her back, we have the perfect right to do so." She shook her head and turned back to Harry and Hermione. "Wanna come down to breakfast with us?"

Harry shook his head. "We're waiting for our friend Ron."

Lia looked slightly dejected, but nodded. "That's ok. I understand." She turned to Cherry. "Let's go Cher." 

"For the hundredth time, don't call me Cher!"

"Sorry!"

And with that, the pair hurried out of the portrait hole.

Hermione looked at Harry accusingly. "Good going, Harry. I think they took that in the wrong way."

Harry looked embarrassed. "I guess so."

Ron appeared at that moment with a triumphant look not unlike Mighty Mouse when he sings "Here I come to save the day!"

"I found my homework!" he panted, (for he had been running down the stairs), looking pleased. "It was under the bed."

After the standard exchange of congratulations, (sarcastically in the case of Hermione,) the trio headed after the twins down to the great hall to breakfast.

They did see the twins for the remainder of the morning. After the conclusion of lunch, they had a joint free period for study. Hermione suggested that they take their books outside in the garden that day, since it was such a beautiful afternoon. The proposal was readily accepted, both Ron and Harry not intending to actually work, and the trio trooped outside, pursued by Neville, who wanted to study with them.

They settled beneath an enormous elm tree on the cool grass in its shade, near a white lattice gazebo. The elm leaves dropped gracefully, twirling and seeming to glow in the warm sunlight. It was a bit nippy, but they were armed with thick scarves and heavy sweaters. Then they noticed that others seemed to have taken a liking to their idea, and were following them out there. Sixth year Gryffindors Julian Gonzales and Holly Nova stood around in the shade of a large cypress, talking about building a robot to take over the world so that they could rule as king and queen. David Autumnrook was going after the girls Elizabeth Montpelier and Ginny, who seemed to both be heading towards the elm too. Also in their group were intermingled a Slytherin named Cassandra Nord, a Hufflepuff named Laira Clockenburger, and Kristin Spade (introduced in Snape's class). Tyler Fowler, whom we also introduced earlier, trailed leisurely behind them, seemingly content to walk by himself.

Laira and Kristin began to practice doing backbends, cartwheels, and other athletics in the warm sun as Cassandra watched and talked to them. Ginny began to chat with David and Ron about Quidditch. Elizabeth was discussing intelligently with Hermione about S.P.E.W. and its overall motives. At least Hermione seemed to have one enthusiastic supporter. Tyler moseyed his way up to them and pretended to know what they were discussing, but, when he was gently rebuffed, turned to Harry, and began to talk about his pet subject, Muggle cars. Harry only half-listened as Tyler went on about how Ferraris weren't as good as Porsches, and that Mustangs were faster than Thunderbirds, or something else like that. He instead was watching as more students filed out in twos or threes from the great hall. Eventually, he caught sight of the twins. They were together, walking slowly down the path to the gazebo. Harry waved to them; Cherry looked up, appeared to be stunned for a moment, and then slowly waved back. As Lia stopped to talk with Julian and Holly under the cypress, Cherry left her sister unsteadily, as though she were not sure of her decision, and came over to the congregation beneath the elm.

"Hey," she said shyly to no one in particular, plunking down next to Hermione. No one seemed to notice her presence, and went on with their conversations. She sat quietly, waiting for someone to take up a conversation with her, for nearly ten minutes. Finally, she nudged into Hermione and Elizabeth's heated discussion.

"…but to me it appears as though Mabel Afleague_ would_ make a great advocate for house-elf rights!" responded Elizabeth hotly, brushing her curly blonde bangs from her warm blue eyes, which had a hazel glow surrounding the pupil which was reminiscent of a sunflower against a backdrop of blue sky.

"That's exactly what I wrote to her, but _NO_" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Several times over the summer, I sent her owls, trying to convince her to go public with her claims and ideals. She could actually be a great help in trying to gain the liberty of the house-elves, what with her journalistic renown and flair. People actually pay attention to what she writes, and are influenced by her. If she shares similar ideas with us, and actually has joined S.P.E.W., why can't she be more of a supporter?"

"Exactly!" cried Elizabeth and Cherry at the same instant. They looked at each other a moment, then Cherry began to laugh. She stopped abruptly as Elizabeth looked at her.

"Sorry," she muttered, although to Harry, it seemed as though she had no grounds upon which to say that.

"Uh, yeah. Hi." Hermione obviously had the same idea, and she looked at Cherry with an odd look.

"Hi." Elizabeth was getting an essay to edit from her satchel. "You're Cherry, aren't you?"

"Yeah, that's right." Cherry smiled bashfully, taking only a brief glance at the group before staring at her lap. All three of them turned to look as Cassandra and Kristin chased David playfully around on the grass. He had taken Cassie's roll of parchment and a box of quills from her bag. The girls were pursuing him for two reasons--to get it back, and just because it was fun running around. All of a sudden, David tripped on a large tree root barely visible under the grass, and fell flat on his face. Cassie and Kristin laughed with him and swooped down to snatch Cassie's items back. He dropped the roll of parchment in his fall, and Kristin quickly grabbed it before he could retrieve it, but he still held the quill box. He still held it firmly with both his hands, clasping it to his chest, and the girls endeavoured to wrench it from his grasp.

"Come _on _David! Give those back! I need those to do McGonagall's essay!" Cassie was not mad, just annoyed, but she was grinning all the same.

"No! No! No!" laughed David, thrashing as he lay on his stomach to evade the long fingers trying to seize the box from him. After a few unsuccessful tugs, in which Cassie had almost got back her quill box, the girls ceased, and, panting, sat back. David used the lull in attacks as an opportunity to further defend himself by huddling into a tight ball.

Kristin, at this point, whispered something to Cassie, a demonic evil smile on her face.

"Ok," nodded Cassie in reply. She was grinning too. Then they turned back to David, who seemed to be unprovokeable. All at once, the girls began to poke him on his arms and back with the tips of their wands.

"No! No! Stop it! Stop it!" exclaimed David, laughing and wriggling upon the grass like an eel.

"Then give us the box!" demanded Kristin, restraining the urge to laugh.

"No!"

"Then we won't stop tickling you…"

At first, it seemed as though David would not give in, and was going to fight gallantly until the end, but, finally, it was too much for him.

"All right! All right! Here!" and he chucked the box up into the tree. It landed on a limb, at first teetering perilously, then stopping. It was stuck.

"You dolt!" reprimanded Cassie jestingly. "_Accio box!_" she cried, brandishing her wand, and the box flew down into her hand.

David lay on the ground, face down, panting from the exertions of laughing so much. With a cough, he rolled over, almost into Cherry's lap.

"Hi. Sorry, didn't notice you there."

"That's ok." Cherry looked quite oddly at him, a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and mirth in her shallow icy-blue eyes. She appeared to be quite awkward in this position and seemed to want to move away.

David propped himself up on his elbows.

"So, what's your name?" he asked conversationally, his chin mere inches above her foot. At this, Cherry's expression changed dramatically, and her eyes narrowed in a sinister way.

"Don't you go about getting any ideas. I'm not allowed to date until I'm 21," she declared, a horrified look on her face as she very energetically tucked in her legs behind her.

David looked stunned.

"What?" he asked, then, thinking better of it, turned away, shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyebrows when Harry made eye contact with him, clearly implying that he had no idea whatsoever as to why she said that. Everyone looked at each other covertly and made similar motions. Cassie and Kristin began to whisper to David, all the playful animosity of minutes ago forgotten. Cherry didn't seem to notice everyone's reactions, and, in fact, seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that it had been a weird comment. She turned to Elizabeth and Hermione again, but the rest of the conversation between the three was rather halting and restrained. Again, if Cherry sensed the enmity in the air, she did not disclose the fact to the public.

Harry glanced over at Lia. She seemed to be enjoying herself, completely at ease with Holly and Julian; their genial laughter rang across the lawn. Harry decided that the twins were a bit more diverse than he had thought originally.

Dinner was a cheerful affair. Everyone seemed to have forgotten Cherry's bizarre comment, for all conversed gaily and light-heartedly at the Gryffindor table. Lia Peterson especially seemed to be having a good time, chatting happily with her new-found friends, Holly, Julian, and another Gryffindor sixth year named Jake. Only Cherry sat sullen, wedged stubbornly betwixt Elizabeth Montpelier and Michele Horsemason, not speaking, but wide-eyed and very observant in her chair. She was keenly waiting for someone to start a conversation with her, but no one did. In fact, she was more of a nuisance than anything; whenever Elizabeth wanted to talk to Michele, it was quite difficult considering that unresponsive extra body in between them. She was sitting opposite Ron, and whenever he cast her an appraising glance, she lowered her eyes and pretended that he didn't exist. Ron noted this to Harry in undertones.

"I don't want to be friendly," he insisted, "You see how she acts towards me!"

Finally, Ron began to wonder if the girl sitting across from him could even talk, she was so silent, and Harry suggested that he just say hello to her.

"Remember what she said to David!" reminded Ron. Harry shrugged.

"It's worth a try, anyhow."

"Oh, all right," gave in Ron, "But back me up if she says something weird again."

He turned from Harry and smiled at Cherry.

"Like it at Hogwarts, Cherry?" he began.

In reply, Cherry practically barked out the answer, staring uneasily in Ron's eye,

"Yes, quite well, thanks."

Ron looked at Harry, and Harry looked at Ron. This wasn't getting off on a good start. Ron raised his eyebrows, shrugged indifferently, and pushed on.

"No need to be so snappy with me. I only want to be friends."

Cherry shrugged, glancing back at her plate.

"Lovely."

Harry and Ron looked at each other again.

"I don't think she likes you" whispered Harry out of the corner of his mouth. Ron nodded back in reply. Dauntlessly, though, Ron tried to open the clam again.

"Who's your favourite teacher?"

"McGonagall. De Rhone's very good too."

"Ah!" exclaimed Ron. At least he had succeeded in forcing more than one sentence from her. He continued, smirking teasingly.

"So do you like De Rhone for his looks?" This was evidently the wrong thing to say to Cherry. She glared back at him, eyes flashing.

"Am I supposed to?" she asked quietly, but menacingly. Ron backed off warily.

"Oh, well, er, no. No, not at all. But I mean, he's very young and all…" He trailed awkwardly off. Cherry was looking at him as though she was ready to cut his throat.

"Oh. Er, so Harry," he began loudly, "How's the weather for Quidditch practice?" Harry knew that Ron could tell perfectly well that the weather was fine for Quidditch practice, but he was just creating a diversion.

"Well," replied Harry, "I was thinking that if we continue on with this good weather all week, we can practice on Thursday after lessons. Our first game is coming up fast, you know."

"Really?" answered Ron. "I didn't know that. Maybe, Harry, we should go and polish our brooms," he added pointedly.

"Right," nodded Harry, and excusing themselves from the table, they headed up to the common room.

"My God!" declared Ron once they were safely out of the Great Hall.

"What's with her? She's…she's mad…" He trailed off dumbly in disbelief and from a lack of how to describe her.

"I don't know what _her_ problem is," answered Harry, "I'm just as confused as you are."

They rounded a bend, and ran straight into Lia Peterson. Somewhat abashed, since they had just been talking about her sister, they bid her good evening and kept going. However, she flagged them down again.

"Hey, are you guys going to the common room?" she called after them.

"Yeah," replied Harry, stopping momentarily.

"Can I come up with you? I'm kinda lost."

"Oh. Sure. Yeah, whatever." Lia trotted up to them. They began to walk again.

"Um, were you guys talking about my sister just now?" she asked almost immediately.

"Uh, and what if we were?" asked Harry evasively.

"I'm just curious. I promise I won't tell her or anything."

"Did you hear what Ron said?" asked Harry, evading the point again.

"Yeah. Hey, I know you were talking about Cherry. Cherry…well…has some problems. Her way of thinking has a weird kink in it."

"Umm…what kind of kink?" asked Ron.

"Well,--er--I don't know…oh whatever, I'll tell you--she's got a problem with boys."

At the looks of confusion her remark met, she elaborated.

"Well boys really annoy her a lot. I can't tell why or how or when, but I think her hatred is based in fear of them."

"Oh yeah. That explains everything!" announced Harry sardonically.

"I told you it's weird. But it's true! She's afraid of boys. As I said, I don't know why or when or how she is, but she is."

"That makes it a bit different," nodded Ron. "But what do we do about it? How can we help her NOT hate us? She doesn't even keep a half a civil tongue in her head when she speaks to us! Come on, you're her TWIN SISTER. You must have SOME idea of a way to bring her down to earth."

"I guess all she needs, really, is to get used to boys a little more" replied Lia. "Give her a little time."

"One last question," added Ron. "How come you don't have this fixation in YOUR head, and SHE does?"

"I really don't know that," mused Lia thoughtfully. "But I think she admires Puritanistic qualities. The way they used to consider 'proper' in Victorian times. She prefers to not show her soft emotions more than she can help."

"Hey, didn't we know someone like that?" snarled Ron sarcastically.

"Yeah, maybe like…" Harry paused in mock thinking "_SNAPE?"_

"You don't mean Severus Snape, the Death Eater, do you?" asked Lia, appropriately horrified.

"Who else!" declared Ron.

"Oh wow, I kinda forgot, he used to teach here, didn't he!" exclaimed Lia.

"Yeah. And he was the worst teacher EVER!"

"Oh." Lia was subdued for a moment, but then she spoke up again. "Oh wow. What if Cherry never grows out of this phase; do you think she'd get to be…no, she wouldn't," she declared vehemently. "Cherry may be like your old professor in some ways, but she's not really an evil person, just deranged and a little obsessed with Puritanism. In fact, I believe she's so obsessed with it that she'd probably rather die than go to You-Know-Who's side."

Ron and Harry chewed over this a moment. Harry slowly answered.

"Well, you know her better than we do. You be the judge of that."

She shook her head sadly in reply. At this point, they were at the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Peaseblossom" muttered Harry, and the portrait-hole swung open, creaking slightly on its hinges.

They had reached the interior of the common-room. Lia smiled brightly at the boys.

"Well, thanks guys. I would have gotten lost somewhere if you hadn't helped me out."

"It was nothing. We've all gotten lost once or twice before, anyhow, so it's not like it's not normal," replied Harry, and settled down on the scarlet couch. Ron sat beside him. Behind them, running footsteps told them that someone was coming down from the girls' dormitory.

"Hey, you're here!" they heard Holly's voice ring out. "What took you so long?"

"I got lost" laughed Lia, "But Harry and Ron showed me the way."

"Great," replied Holly distractedly. "Now come upstairs. I want to show you the picture of my dog I was telling you about."

"Cool!" answered Lia, and, talking animatedly, Lia and Holly quickly stomped up the stairs.

"Lia's not bad," remarked Harry.

"She's nice." replied Ron unenthusiastically. "Not at all like her sister, though."

"Well, we learned a little more about Cherry today, that's for sure," muttered Harry in reply.

"Maybe a little too much," answered Ron, pulling a quill from his bag. And at that, they dropped their conversation and settled down to their homework.

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After a week, everyone was talking about the new D.A.D.A. teacher.

"He's SOOOOOOOO handsome!" whispered Lavender Brown in the common room.

"He knows what he's talking about!" declared Dennis Creevy at the dinner table.

"He's awesome!" announced Ernie Macmillan in the corridors.

"He reminds me too much like Snape" mused Harry coldly every time De Rhone's name was mentioned.

"Come now Harry, don't be so dour!" Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were at a 'Slug Club' meeting. Evidentially, Slughorn had been successful in clearing it with McGonagall. Ron had been invited too, after Harry and Hermione both 'confided' in Slughorn that Ron was a wonderful Quidditch player. Also there were Lia and Cherry Peterson, Elizabeth Montpelier, Kristin Spade, Tyler Fowler, Erica Cangrejo, (Ravenclaw) Baylee Écureuil, (another Ravenclaw) and other outstanding students of some remarkable talent. Lia drifted over to Ron, Harry, and Hermione, and Elizabeth was surrounded by Kristin, Baylee, and Erica. Cherry had found her way into Elizabeth's group, but seemed pathetically out of place. Tyler, on his part, was helping Slughorn fix something in one corner, to Slughorn's positive delight.

"You should be a fix-it man, no offence intended," Horace Slughorn was exclaiming.

"Yeah, well, actually," assured Tyler, "I help out Madame Hooch a lot by taking care of the brooms. In fact, that's probably what I'll do when I get out of school—make brooms and sell them and fix them and stuff."

"The art of broom-making is a very fine one indeed," Slughorn nodded, approving.

"If I had been a Muggle instead of a wizard ('cause you see, both my parents were Muggles, and it was really weird for them when they learned that I was otherwise, see,) I would have been an auto mechanic."

"Automobiles; the broom of the Muggle, that's right," added Slughorn, not to be swayed from the subject of brooms. "Now I just happen to know a man who helps to manufacture Comets…" Tyler listened, apparently interested in Slughorn's tirade, and followed the portly professor as he went to retrieve some cookies from a table.

"Hel-lo! Earth to Harry!" Harry spun around suddenly to look Hermione in the eye.

"What was that?" he asked, trying to catch up in the conversation.

"Harry, we were just saying that perhaps you would like to resume the D.A. sometime soon." Kristin was slightly impatient-sounding.

"Uh, yeah, sure, maybe. I don't know if many people would be interested though."

"I would," said Kristin and Baylee at the same time.

"Me too," added Elizabeth.

"Yeah, that would be really great," added Lia.

"Mhm," mumbled Erica in ascent.

Harry put up his hands in mock self-defence. "All right, all right, I get the picture, so you all want me to start it up again. I'll sleep on it, ok?"

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Later, Hermione entered the sixth year girl's dormitory. It had been a week since her midnight discussion with Ginny and company about the Peterson girls. She was now here, ostensibly, to return a hairbrush to Ginny, but, in reality, to see how things had turned out. As she opened the door and stepped in, she was pleased with what met her eyes.

Holly Nova and Lia sat on Lia's bed, talking loudly about their friends Julian and Jake, and how they were struggling in Potions. They appeared completely at ease and seemed to go together well. Hermione smiled as Ginny walked over to join them; apparently Lia was easy to take care of. She walked over to the three of them, and, smilingly, tried to return the hairbrush. Ginny thanked her then resumed her interrupted conversation with Holly and Lia. Hermione then turned to see what Cherry was doing. She was with Elizabeth, Kristin and Michele, all congregated on Michele's bed. Kristin was braiding her host's long gorgeous hair very efficiently, while still laughingly heading the conversation with an anecdote about a Pomeranian dog she had found and lost again the same day. Elizabeth gasped and made brief comments in all the right places. Michele didn't say much, since she was sucking on an acid pop, but laughed with her mouth closed when laughter was due. Cherry just sat somewhat away from the other three, grinning perpetually except at the sad parts, where she nodded and sighed in commiseration. She tried to make a brief mumbled interjection here and there, but Kristin either didn't hear her, which was very probable, or just plain didn't care, which was a lot less probable.

Well, at least Lia was having little trouble in adapting, thought Hermione, and, after bidding goodnight to all, she went up the stairs to the dorm she shared with Parvati and Lavender. She mind was buzzing at a hundred miles an hour and couldn't keep still. It was giving her a throbbing headache, which, actually, may have been just because her hair was tied back too tight. To numb the ache, she wrenched her hair out of her brown rubber band. She felt a great deal relived instantly, and she hurriedly changed into her pyjamas before flopping down on her bed to read through chapter twelve of her new Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook again.

As soon as she opened it, though, she remembered the bashful, warm smile of the young new teacher as he had looked at her in class days ago. His eyes had been like pools of clear water with the golden glisten of sunset shining through them, and also held an endearing sense of effortless efficiency. She recalled with a smile the slight rouge blush on his cheeks when he tripped over his own feet, and the profound look on his countenance when he had started to concentrate too hard on whatever it was on his mind in the middle of class. She recalled with a sigh the good-natured, slightly shy laugh he had emitted twice over the course of the period, and with what a sense of wonder the look in his eye as he read her essay, and she threw her book away disdainfully. If she was not mistaken, De Rhone liked her a lot, and she realized that she liked him too. For, what, the third or fourth time since her coming to Hogwarts, she was in love.

But this one, she knew, was different. She could sense it. For the first time, she felt as though she liked someone as much as she liked them. The only person who had ever proclaimed their love for her was Viktor Krum, but that relationship was very one-sided and very brief. At the time of the Triwizard Tournament, she had felt flattered when he kissed her, and told herself she loved him when, in fact, she didn't. However, even Viktor had gotten over her, she knew. He had last written her two months ago, and, in that letter, mentioned that he had married a 'divine girl named Kristine that I'm sure you would like.' Not that she minded that he had married; now they were just good friends with a bit more history behind them than was necessary.

Perhaps De Rhone did not love her yet, or perhaps he did not even know he liked her, but Hermione knew that he did, and more than just affection for a student. She had seen the way her father looked at her mother, she had seen the way Harry looked at Ginny, (both of whom, she knew, were made for each other) and she had, on top of that, seen the way Lavender Brown looked at Ron's picture that she kept on her bedside table, which she religiously made a ritual of kissing gently when she rose in the morning and went to sleep at night. (Hermione was slightly disgusted by the way Lavender had not given up on him yet, and was constantly out to try and get 'Won-Won!' to come back to her.) Professor De Rhone and she, she knew, were perfect for each other. With this happy thought in her head, Hermione snuggled deeper under the down comforter on her bed, and, with difficulty, closed her eyes. Sometime she managed to drift off to sleep before morning, but it was not for a while.

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Snape had a sleepness night too. He tried to close his mind to everyone and everything before dozing off (he was one of those who actually practiced what he preached,) but Hermione had dredged herself in the foremost part of his mind. Desperately, he tried to hide her from himself, but her visage always came swimming back to his mind's eye. Finally, he got up and began to bang his head against the wall in order to clear it with pain. It worked, at least, though he ended up bleeding and bruised. He repaired himself easily and settled down in bed again. He must come off of this obsession; it was driving him insane! And there was so much more that should have had a higher priority in his head—such as not getting discovered, killed, or becoming insane. But all of this seemed to carry lower priority now, though his conscience tore and clawed at him to keep his mind to his task and duty. He wished there was someone he could talk to. That was one of the disadvantages of not having Dumbledore here anymore. Dumbledore had been his sole confidence-keeper.

Severus most certainly regretted the fact that what was done was done. However, the deed had been necessary, despite its cruelty. He wondered what life would be like for him now if he hadn't taken over Draco's job. Ah, here, he was distracted off the point of Hermione now. Ugh! But now the very mention of her name sent chills up his spine! Oh, the wretched foolishness of it! The horrible weakness and self pity he contained in himself! He had to be strong, or all was lost! What if everything were to be exposed due to a flying fancy for a girl who wasn't even his own age? Who had nothing in common with him, whatsoever, anyhow? Tossing and turning, before Snape tried to sleep, to block out his mind from all thoughts, but, fitfully, he ended up falling asleep.

_

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	11. Chapter 13

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

_**Chapter 12**_

_-------------------------------------_

_Harry's Musings on horocruxes_

_-------------------------------------_

_The New D.A._

_(some Slytherins have started up a secret support group for Voldemort. They call it Dark Lord's Assistants, shortened to D.A., somewhat in mockery of Dumbledore's Army, its exact opposite. In this part, Harry discovers it when he is trying to find his old potions book in the room of requirement.)_

_-------------------------------------_

Chapter 13

Harry wondered over what he had done wrong as he walked bewildered to McGonagall's office. He muttered the password at the stone gargoyles, "Lex Vincit" (Latin for "Law Conquers") and walked up the revolving stairs two at a time. All was quiet when he reached the top. He paused, hand upraised to knock, when he felt an abrupt rush of emotion. For years, he had known Dumbledore to reside, well and safe, behind this very door. Now, indeed, McGonagall kept it. He wondered how much the interior had changed with her influence. Harry swallowed twice, then knocked bravely.

"Come in, Potter" Professor McGonagall called to him. Harry opened the door. The room, he saw, had not lost any of its cheeriness from when Dumbledore was here, but everything was much more neat and precise. Several items had been taken away, to give the room a less cluttered look. Dumbledore's squashy velvet chair had been placed in a corner with an embroidered throw over it, and it had been replaced behind the desk by McGonagall's severe high-backed wooden one. Dumbledore's pensieve and other trinkets had been boxed away somewhere, or so Harry assumed, and Fawke's perch and other necessities had been moved out also, since the phoenix was now gone. A scanty few things had been added to the room, too. Dumbledore's picture, as Harry had noticed in his last year, had been posted up with the past headmasters. A new shelf above the door now held Godric Gryffindor's sword, Salazar Slytherin's locket and ring. The wallpaper had been changed to a dark green that had a comforting, velvety look. Harry took a seat, at the headmistress' bidding, in the seat opposite hers.

"Possibly you can guess what this is about?" Harry shook his head no. He had no idea what caused McGonagall to desire his presence that day.

"Well, I will not evade the point further." McGonagall did not beat about the bush.

"After Dumbledore died, Harry, we have been rather at a loss as to how to go about bringing down Voldemort. Our members of the Order have, you may have heard, quieted down the riled giants, so they are no longer an eminent threat. We also have been busy with other things of similar sorts, but is the bulk of what our work has been based on. We have lost some of our most valuable members, to death or otherwise…" Here she paused. Harry thought she was thinking of Sirius. Harry nodded and barred his teeth. McGonagall sighed and continued. To be truthful, she had been thinking about Snape, not Sirius, but that's not the point.

"So, rather obviously, we need new, trustworthy, of-age recruits," she went on.

"Oh, yes, I heard Fred and George are in it officially now, as well as some of the other Hogwarts alumni I knew" agreed Harry

"So, my point is, since you are of age now, you are, naturally, at the top of our list of hopefuls. Would you consider it?" she asked quizzically.

"Oh yes, yes, of course!" cried Harry, overjoyed. He had been awaiting this day all year.

"Good, because we need you." Minerva sighed, her difficult task completed without much effort in persuasion at all. "Very well then. We will arrange things so that you will be able to attend our meetings. I will take you when we assemble monthly, Harry."

"Thanks, Professor."

"You're welcome Potter. Now, would you mind doing something for me?" She looked at him seriously.

"Ok. Anything."

"Ask your friends Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley if they would consider joining, too. They are, I assume, both passed their seventeenth birthdays also?"

"Yes, Professor. Well, wait, no, Hermione's is a little bit later in the year."

"We might make an exception in her case. So you do that. Call it your first official assignment, if you wish." There was a note of dismissal in her voice.

"Yes Professor." Here Harry got up.

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Telling Hermione and Ron

-------------------------------------

Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes for the twelfth time in the past ten minutes as he wrote, hurriedly, with a cramped hand, in Professor De Rhone's class. He glanced at the bell, which glared back at him the fact that there was a minute and a half to the final bell. De Rhone was concluding his lecture just now, and hurriedly demanded that everyone pack up. Forcefully, Harry shoved his books into his bag and, finished, crammed Hermione's into hers, since her hand was still flying across her parchment, and there seemed to be little chance of her stopping. The bell rang momentarily, and Harry snatched Hermione's bag, his bag, and raced out the door, dragging an anxious writer with him.

"Harry! Seriously! Must we run? We won't be there any later than anyone else," she declared, flustering, her quill still flying even as she half-ran. Harry snatched her parchment and writing instrument from her hand and stuffed both in his pocket.

"We aren't going to be late because of your already perfect essay."

"But it's not DONE!" Hermione protested scathingly.

"Who cares? De Rhone adores you. Even if you do turn it in undone, you'll still get an "O". De Rhone loves you." Seeing no reason to say any more, Harry hurried on.

"I know the way myself, thanks." She wrenched her arm from his tight clenching grasp. She said nothing else, though, and she looked a bit flushed.

Their pace accelerated as they got nearer and nearer to the Room of Requirement, where they were headed, for their first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. At some point on the way there, they literally crashed into Ron, who came from a free period, and eventually they encountered their destination.

Minerva was standing there, complacent as ever. "Late?" she queried, noticing how out of breath they were. Harry shot an accusatory glance at Hermione, who rolled her eyes at him back. But then the three noticed that she was smiling, and without further ado, let them pass her into the room.

The Room of Requirement had changed very much on the interior since Harry had hidden his potions book in it last year. Instead of being crowded with shelves and books, the space was clear, and a long curved table surrounded with chairs stood in the center of the room. In these sat the respective members of the Order of the Phoenix, and . Even and were there, . Lurking in the corner were and , looking for all the world as though . Four empty seats remained, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione silently took three of these. Minerva tapped a gavel and sat down at the head of the tab;e. The room became instantly silent.

"I call this meeting to order at three minutes to five o'clock on October 15, 19. I regrettedly must announce that Mr. Peakes cannot be with us here today due to certain arrangements which have prolonged him. He may be with us next week, however."

Harry noticed that, as she spoke, a terse little bespectacled man was writing furiously. At this moment, though, he was laying down his quill and standing up. Harry supposed that he must be some sort of secretary of the Order. The man cleared his throat.

"The minutes of the last meeting," he began, reading off of a bunch of papers in his hands, "Was as such: Nyphadora Lupin absent due to doctor's appointment." Here Tonks looked down, a bit red, but smiling sadly. No one needed to ask why Tonks had to go to the doctor—everyone knew she was barren with child.

_

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Love it? Especially review. 

_Main point: REVIEW PLEASE! _


	12. Chapter 14

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

Chapter 14 

Snape had tried everything. Every second of every day, he mooned over Hermione's faults. He set a spell on himself to make him stop thinking about her for a day. He had avoided her in the halls and had paid her no heed anymore when her hand was raised in class. Despite all these desperate measures to ignore her, her presence gnawed at his very core. His morals were warped for the worse after every encounter with her; things that were right seemed wrong, and things that were wrong seemed right. It was all he could do to contain himself from doing or saying anything that might blow his cover. But he couldn't defeat his inner sense. After a fortnight, Snape admitted defeat. He was wildly in love with her. And yet when he brought himself to question what he saw in her, he could not give a straight answer. Whenever she looked at him, he felt that he was going to melt. She was not glamorous, her amount of wit did not amount to much, and she never failed to receive at least an E on almost everything, and was absolutely the perfect student, but did that count in his or her favour? And what did he mean, by it counting in his or her favour anyways? Snape, for one time in his life, was confused by almost everything he thought and said. At any rate, he knew he would not be able to bear her leaving Hogwarts. He began, in a sense, to stalk her.

He figured out exactly what times of day she passed his room, so that he might either be outside or have the door open to see her just to get a glimpse of her. On weekends he seemed to show up very often in places that she was. And he almost couldn't keep his eyes off of her during meals. It seemed as though he had to have a glimpse of her every so often just to ensure that she hadn't died or was just a figment of his imagination, that she still existed. But of course, he knew she would not, could not, bring herself to marry him. More likely than not, Hermione Granger would become the blushing bride of either Harry or Ron, or, anyhow, someone closer to her own age. He was far too old for her, and he acknowledged that.

Snape very often wept silently to sleep nowadays. And this was odd in itself, because Severus had always prided himself on being cold and calculating, never letting his emotions take control of him. If he ever had, on rare occasions, broken the rule, he was always sure to be alone. He had never known why he had this peculiarity, but he had always acted in such a manner since his adolescence. He knew it did nothing for making friends; apparently people only wanted to like you if you cried all over their shoulder at least once. Perhaps, he reflected, they thought it unnatural to never cry, very rarely laugh, and only occasionally smile. So people usually avoided him like the plague. He had always been an island, set apart from everything and everyone, never showing people how he felt about anything except through anger, incivility, coldness, and hatred. What he felt can be best explained in words of song. Once, while in a Muggle bookshop in London, he had heard this song, "I am a Rock" by Paul Simon, that in his opinion, his feelings: 

_A winter's day _

_In a deep and dark December _

_I am alone _

_Gazing from my window _

_To the streets below _

_On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow _

_I am a rock _

_I am an island _

_I've built walls _

_A fortress steep and mighty _

_That none may penetrate _

_I have no need for friendship _

_Friendship causes pain _

_It's laughter and it's loving I disdain _

_I am a rock _

_I am an island _

_Don't talk of love _

_But I've heard the word before _

_It's sleeping in my memory _

_I won't disturb the slumber _

_Of feelings that have died _

_If I never loved I never would have cried _

_I am a rock _

_I am an island _

_I have my books _

_And my poetry to protect me _

_I am shielded in my armour _

_Hiding in my room _

_Safe within my womb _

_I touch no one and no one touches me _

_I am a rock _

_I am an island _

_And a rock feels no pain _

_And an island never cries _

After hearing this, Snape had asked at the cashier's desk to inquire after the name of the person who wrote this song and its title, and, later, he had stopped by an internet café to find the words online and print them off, as they truly struck his fancy. He kept the paper pinned up in his closet, to read whenever he felt the need to explain himself in words.

Actually, the book that Snape bought in that Muggle shop that day was Muggle story of The Phantom of the Opera. He had not been looking for anything in particular, and although he had been planning to walk out again, once he had to ask the lady at the cashier about the song, he felt it would only be common courtesy to buy something. So, he snatched a random book off the shelf, paid for it, and had completely forgotten about it by the time he got home. He had never even bothered to read the summary on the back cover of the book.

Now, in his dark time of despair and trauma, he read the entire novel in his spare time, just to take his mind off of everything. It didn't work at all; indeed, it spurred on a thread of contemplation instead. In fact, Severus found he had a lot in common with the Phantom Erik. The desperation felt by Severus was completely identical to that of the Phantom, only it was not only because he was course and not very beautiful on the outside, it was also because of his advanced age and actual personality. So in a way, he was in worse of a position than the Phantom, and there was very, very little chance of Hermione kissing _him_ at the end of the story! And there wasn't even the equivalent of the Persian for Snape to confide in anymore; so in every regards, he was worse off than the Phantom. But he was like the Phantom in yet another way--he was a true genius at potions. The Phantom was a genius at music and architecture. So in many regards, the two of them had much in common.

Anyhow, so Severus Snape knew that now there was a 'she,' or so his mother had so tactfully put it. He only hoped he wouldn't have to lie to mother next time he wrote her.

Snape's feeble hope was only a jinx. The very next day, he received an owl from his mother. It was the first time, in his replying letter, that Snape had ever consciously lied to his mother about his fancies. He had consoled himself by saying that his bizarre infatuation would wane soon, whenever Hermione did something most absurdly ridiculous. Then he would be free of this maddening curse, and he would be sane again and free to focus on things of more importance.

McGonagall, he suspected, had realized that something was up. He couldn't tell if she had an inkling of what was going on inside his head, but he knew she must have realized that he acted more blustering, absentminded, and even more irritable (if that was indeed possible!) than usual. He only hoped that she wouldn't confront him over it and instead label it as one of his moods. But this would not come to pass.

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One day, Severus (still in his guise as Professor De Rhone) was in the garden. It was sunset, and the day had been exceptionally beautiful. The sky was still a beautiful cornflower blue as the sun sank behind the castle. The colourful fallen leaves crunched beneath his boots.

There was a Halloween ball arranged for that evening in the great hall, so the garden was deserted as everyone prepared their costumes in their dorms. It was just as well, so that Snape could be alone and quiet his mind somewhat after the hassles and trials of the day. He did hate parties! But he was obligated to show up, being a teacher and all. If he was in his own person, he would go with no costume. However, since Gary De Rhone was different, he would surely need to come up with a costume of some sort. But Snape didn't feel very much like rushing around looking for beads and making masks or all the rest of that junk. Instead, he leaned against one of the poles of the starch-white gazebo surrounded by red-violet roses, where lovers so often secretly met for moonlight tête-à-têtes, with a melancholy sigh.

He looked up at the creak of a door. McGonagall was making her way out of the castle with a pair of garden gloves, a basket, and clippers, on her way to collect some festive foliage for either her costume or decoration. With a wistful glance, he turned away from where she bustled about and brought his gaze up to the large elm trees above him. He was not concerned that McGonagall would come and pester him now, what with so many things she needed to get done before the ball.

A strain of beautiful violin and piano melody drifted down, caressing his ears with a sad, plaintive tune. He turned his stare from the trees and up towards where the sound came from. It seemed to originate from the tower nearest him. Very curious to know who it was playing, he looked around for McGonagall. She seemed to have gone back inside, or around the castle to another portion of garden, for she was nowhere in sight. He supposed that he was too inquisitive for his own good, but he wanted to know who it was playing. He made his way stealthily to the base of the tower. A window was ajar above him, and most definitely, the music was coming from in there. So he wouldn't be seen, Snape set a chameleon charm on himself, so that he would blend in with his surroundings. It was another useful charm of his own invention.

This done, he warily placed one foot on the rose trellis that crept all the way up the castle walls. It did not give way under his weight, and he put his other foot up. The trellis was strong, though it was wood, and Snape climbed carefully up to the open window, trying as little as possible to shake the bush and attract attention. He did not evade many scratches from thorns, but soon he triumphed, and reached the window.

The velvet maroon curtains were parted, and he could see plainly into the room. It contained several four-posters, on one of these sat Miss Cherry Peterson. Snape assumed that this must be the Gryffindor girl's dormitory. A small upright piano was wedged in between the wall and the bed, and Cherry's fingers were flying over the keyboard. At the magnificent wooden music stand, clutching her violin tightly, stood Miss Lia Peterson. Her bow swept across the strings in long, eloquent, resounding strokes. Snape could see the title of the music from where he peered in, "Sonata for Oboe and Piano, op. 166--molto allegro" by Camille Saint-Saens. He found it odd, that they had replaced the oboe part for a violin part, but he supposed that was the best they could do. They concluded the piece, and Lia flung herself across her bed to get a look at the clock on the table on the other side.

"Cherry?"

"Yeah?"

"You know we've only got two hours before the ball." Lia began to wipe excess rosin from her violin bow and strings with a felt cloth. When she finished, she transformed her instrument into a marble and placed it in her drawer for safekeeping. Cherry did the same with her piano.

"Yeah."

"Did you ever find anyone to go with?"

Cherry shrugged.

"No one."

Lia shook her head.

"That's too bad. I'm going with Jake and Holly and Julian"

"Hmph. You're lucky to have friends to go with. Unlike some people." And, reminiscent of a houself, Cherry began to bang her head hard against the wall.

"Oh, Cherry, don't do that," exclaimed Lia, standing up and putting her arm protectively around her sister. "You're just being too shy. People aren't used to you yet, but they'll begin to like you soon enough."

"You just said two con…contradictory comments," murmured Cherry glumly, obviously trying to hold back tears. She began to rub vigorously at one glassy eye with her hand.

"Are you ok?" asked Lia comfortingly.

"Oh, yeah, everything's all right." Cherry's voice was tight and strained. "I've just got something in my eye, that's all."

As desperately as she tried to hide them, two tears rolled down her cheeks. She was now a confirmed liar.

(Snape looked away; so much for some nice cheerful music! He felt that he was really invading on their privacy now; it was too depressing watching girls cry! This was not setting him in high spirits; on the contrary, he almost felt like crying himself. He dared not move down again, though, until they either started playing again or left, lest the noise he make while descending the trellis be noticed.)

The pair sat in silence a while. Finally, though, Lia broke the silence by whispering,

"Cherry, what's bothering you?" (Snape turned to look at them again, and noticed that more tears had splashed down and wet her sweater with great splotches.)

Cherry, however, just shook her head helplessly. Just then, the door opened and Ginny Weasley walked in. Cherry stood up quickly and dried her tears with the back of her sleeve.

"Hey, Lia, Jake wants to talk to you" announced Ginny.

"Can it wait?" asked Lia.

"Nope. He said no 'ifs ands or buts.' 'Pronto.'"

Lia looked pointedly at Cherry.

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked of her sister.

Cherry made a feeble attempt at smiling before Ginny, but then sat down on the bed facing the wall to mask a fresh set of tears. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Just…raging hormones I guess."

"Are you just going to stay up here, or are you coming, Cherry?" asked Ginny with over-emphasized politeness.

"Yeah," replied Cherry in a cheerful tone, although she looked far from cheerful.

"If you say so," replied Lia and, with that, she and Ginny turned to leave.

Severus watched them. Reflecting over their previous performance, they were quite accomplished musicians, he was thinking, wow…Suddenly, Snape had the unpreventable urge to sneeze. He was allergic to pollen, and it was just his luck that this particular rose plant was in full bloom right now. His eyes began to water with restraint. Finally, he could contain it any longer--

"Ahh-CHOO!"

"Guishunteit" murmured Lia without looking up as she went out the door, closing it gently after herself and Ginny.

"Hey, guishunteit yourself!" replied Cherry just as uninterestedly to no one. She did not bother to clarify who had sneezed, for which Snape was quite thankful. He had nearly gotten himself discovered.

At this point, Cherry lay down on her stomach and buried her face in the pillow, her body shaking with heart-wrenching, silent sobbing. Feeling very VERY intrusive by this time, Snape tried to begin moving down the trellis. However, it was somewhat shaky, and as soon as he had moved a single step, it rustled. At the sudden disturbance, Cherry looked up and out the window. Her face was very red; Snape thought very cruelly that perhaps that was the reason her parents had named her Cherry. Although to her it seemed as though there was no one there, she walked over to the window and began to scrutinize the trellis. Snape hoped to God that she would not attempt to feel for anyone there. She didn't, but then, she sank back down on the bed, with the look of the apparently unsatisfied.

At any rate, Cherry now got out another marble from her drawer, and transformed it with a flick of her wand into an oboe. She wet her reed in a handy decanter, turned back to the piece, and then began to play the oboe part. It sounded even better on the oboe than on the violin, or so Snape thought. He decided he would remain there, just listening to the excellent music-making until she quit. It was extremely pleasant, but his hands were beginning to hurt from holding on to the trellis, and he already had a splinter in his thumb. He moved his hand to get a better grip, and speared a thorn right through his palm.

"Oh damn!" he cursed aloud unthinkingly, and let go of the trellis with both hands to put an end to the excruciating pain he received. He thought that he had pierced a nerve.

"Cherry!" exclaimed Lia, who opened the door just as he had muttered his oath, astonished that her sister would use such foul language.

"I didn't say that!" replied Cherry, stopping in the midst of a six-beat note.

Lia grabbed a shoe and walked over to the window.

"Is there someone there?" she asked, swiping the shoe though the air aimlessly, trying to hit something. She succeeded in jabbing the toe forcefully in Snape's open mouth. He, in turn, lost his balance, and fell backwards, shoe still in his mouth. He hit the ground with a thud.

"Oh my gosh!" he heard Lia scream, and he heard her excited chattering.

"Something, out there, it grabbed the shoe right out of my hands, and it fell down there. Cherry, look, look!"

"Wow. That's weird." replied Cherry. She joined Lia by the window.

Snape wasn't hurt, and he got back up. He dropped the shoe on the grass, and made a hasty retreat into a corner. He saw Cherry, above him, swing her legs over the sill and climb down the trellis herself to pursue the shoe. She looked around suspiciously once she reached the ground, but she could see no one and nothing. With a fake laugh, she attempted to throw the shoe back up to Lia unsuccessfully a few times, then finally made the shoe fly through the window. She climbed back up after it, and resumed her interrupted piece, thinking (apparently) nothing more of the incident.

Severus shook his head; all he had wanted was to see who was playing the music; he didn't want to have fallen about twenty-five feet. It was fortunate that he had fallen on the soft grass mound and not bashed his head on a rock or anything. He might have been killed! Nursing his hand, which still had the thorn lodged deeply in it, Severus went over to the gazebo again and resumed the position he had taken earlier, leaning against one of the posts, but now he was looking intently at the one tower.

After a time, he managed to remove the offending object from his hand, and he mended the wound. He undid his chameleon spell and threw the thorn on the ground, stamping it into small pieces. McGonagall came back out the castle door just then, and she noticed Snape there. She meandered her way towards him without seeming to do so. Snape, meanwhile, began to puzzle more about Hermione and why he felt affection for her. The mournful oboe from the tower whirled away, ascending and descending in crescendos and decrescendos, spinning his emotions from almost light-hearted and inquisitive to his usual morose and suspicious self, then back to spirited and light once more, and again into sadness, and so on. He completely forgot about McGonagall picking roses and fell into the bottomless pit of his thoughts.

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McGonagall walked up slowly behind him. Snape was vaguely aware of her presence without regarding it as important. He was too absorbed in his thoughts to care that she was there. She first looked around to make sure no one was within earshot, then approached him more.

"Severus," she said quietly and respectfully "I want to talk to you." She sat down on the bench opposite him. Snape made no sound, but crossed his arms defensively and stared at a rosebush. He was not ready to break his train of thought just to speak to her, why must she bother him as he was thinking, such an exhausting trial thinking was, especially when continually interrupted…

McGonagall paused and did not continue for a very long time, obviously considering what best way to put what she was going to say. Finally, she spoke out again, cautiously, and very, very softly.

"Is there anything that you desire to confide in me?"

Snape shook his head quickly, but didn't look at her. Why must she be bothering him now? He was just so tired, really, was it so important that she couldn't she ask him tomorrow, or later at the party (if he attended) or anytime else…

Not getting the response she wanted, Minerva attacked from another angle.

"Severus, if you need someone to talk to, I'm here." she declared. "You've known me for nearly all your life. You know I wouldn't betray you, and I can tell something's not right. You're worried over something, but I can't tell what it is. I only want to help you."

Getting only a shrug of the shoulders from Severus, she tackled yet another approach.

"Is it to do with anything you're doing for, well…you-know-who?"

Here Snape finally looked at her, but with a stony glare. He had turned instantly to look more venomous, but he only replied, "No, my work there is no more distressing than I can handle, thanks."

McGonagall here took on the air similar to that she used to deal with an unresponsive child. "Now Severus, don't you give me the evil eye. If it's not to do with your special work, than it's--"

Here Snape interrupted.

"It's not important." Suddenly, he realized he had partially given himself away.

McGonagall shut up for a moment, mulling over the piece of information he had given. Then she pounced on the fragment he had uttered.

"Ah, but you just admitted that there IS something!" she declared triumphantly.

"Well, er, yes, but it's only trifling," Severus protested. He hoped he could deter her, but he had few expectations of doing so. At this point, the oboe music changed to another piece, just as morose and depressing as the first.

"But it must be important, or else, to you it is. And what is important to you is important to me." Then she named all her reasons, clearly and concisely. "You've been looking ill ever since the day you revealed yourself to me last month, you're not eating enough at meals, Mona, the house elf who does your room, reports you haven't been sleeping in your bed for a fortnight, and you've been acting very distressed in general. I demand that you tell me what's going on in your head, Severus, which causes you to be so depressed. I implore for your sake, and, perhaps, for the sake of our students and other staff. Tell me, please!" Here McGonagall stopped dramatically. She hoped it would create an impact on Snape.

It seemed not to; he turned away from her again, and she saw his chest heaving for lack of air. She rose and put a hand on his shoulder, and ever so gently, turned him around to face her. What she saw was so shocking to her that she might have had a heart attack right then and there: two tearstains running down his cheeks. Sure, he was in another's body, but it was shocking, nevertheless. She tried to imagine his real self with the tearstains and could not; it was too unnatural. He tried to avert his face, and brushed his hands over his face multiple times, but she had seen them. For a moment, McGonagall stood as though petrified.

"Severus," she gasped, "I'm sorry. Did I…" she trailed off. And then Snape completely lost control of himself. He slipped down the pole and brought in his legs until he was just a ball at the foot of it next to the stone bench, burying his face in his arms. He gave a sort of cross between a gasp, a cough, and a sob, and made no other sound. McGonagall sat down on the bench at the end nearest him and somehow found his chin among the tangle of arms. He tried to resist, but she lifted his face until she could see it clearly in the light. At that moment, his skin began to bubble and his frame began to shrink, and his hair began to grow and darken, and then the original Snape sat huddled before her.

"Confound that Polyjuice potion" he murmured, burying his head in his arms again.

McGonagall whispered, "Sit next to me, Severus." Somehow, he managed to get up jerkily and half fall down onto the bench. Now he buried his head in his hands, and his long greasy hair fell in ringlets around his face. He was wholeheartedly sobbing now, but with no sound. Never had he begun to cry before anyone before; this was extremely new. In all the years Minerva McGonagall had known Severus Snape, she had least imagined him in such a state as this.

Instead of saying anything, she slowly clasped him around the waist and brought his head unto her shoulder. She felt a sort of powerful innate maternal instinct to do probably as she highly suspected no woman or man had done to Severus in a very long time--hug him comfortingly.

Snape did not know what had come over him. One moment, he was resigned and determined not to display any emotion whatsoever. The next, Professor McGonagall was holding him and hugging him like he was a little child who had hurt himself. Affectionate as his mother was, Snape could not remember a time when Mrs. Snape was holding him like this. At this dismal thought, Snape just felt worse, and cried harder into the soft, jasmine-scented cloaks.

After what seemed a century, Snape finally disentangled himself from Minerva's grasp.

"Sorry" he gasped. "I've never…ever…let out like that in front of anyone before." Minerva nodded understandingly. "Perhaps that isn't healthy, Severus." She paused. "So…do you want to tell me about it now?"

Snape looked sullen. "I seem to have no choice." he said, not coldly, but despairingly. He was trying to regain his composure. He added, "I will try and do so without embarrassing myself further." He sniffed, catching a few last tears. McGonagall shook her head.

"Do not think that I do not ever cry myself. And do not consider it embarrassing to cry in front of me, Severus." She patted him reassuringly on the back. "Even the best of us has to cry sometimes," she stated. She wasn't sure if she was quoting something or if she had made that line up. At any rate, Snape summoned enough strength to depict his strange love affair with Hermione Granger, but not without loss of more tears.

"But I'll be done with this foolish business soon." he concluded vehemently. "I had a deprived childhood. I should have finished with this sort of thing long ago, had my fun with girls when I was a teenager." Here, he paused. "Somehow, though, I went wrong in adolescence. I was bulimic; you know that all too well. And I was far too serious about education to get it out of my system when I should have at the appropriate time. Now all I'm doing is being afflicted with what I neglected for so long."

Here McGonagall did not reprimand him, as he had fully expected her to do, and instead smiled slightly.

"Falling in love with our students," she said, "even that…even that happens to the best of us." She sighed.

Snape pretended not to appear interested, but his curiosity was raging. He made no comment, and McGonagall soon continued.

"I must admit, Severus, that when I was slightly younger than you, I was in love with…a student. In fact, he was a student of your class."

Snape continued to feign apathy. He wondered if McGonagall would continue, but she didn't. Almost as though she was reading his mind, which was blazing out the question "Who?" she murmured, "I think you know who I mean."

"No, I don't think so," he muttered in reply, although a horrible wave of foreboding swept over him. It wasn't, it couldn't be, but yet it had to be, it made sense…

"Then I'll tell you." She leaned in closer, trying to hide a small smile. "James Potter."

Snape was crestfallen, it was as he had supposed; James Potter had always been McGonagall's favourite. It only made sense. But it angered him that she had thrust the fact out in the open so blandly. He felt as though she had chucked a stone at him, which he felt a very strong urge to do now to her.

"Why can't we keep the Potters out of any blasted conversation?" he almost roared. McGonagall shrugged, oblivious to his anger.

"I'm only stating the truth. You can hate me for it. I just am sharing with you my similar experience to show you that yes, things like this do happen, and we can choose either to act upon them, or else to allow them pass over. I did the latter, and things, for me, have worked out most satisfactorily." She stopped a moment, then continued, "You may consider me biased in this opinion, but I think that in such times as these, you should forget your truly silly childhood hatred, especially since Sirius and James are dead and gone."

Snape chewed over the information she had just presented, not saying anything. He had never considered this arrangement. He knew they wouldn't have forgiven _him_ in the event of his death; why should he do so for them? _Because McGonagall wanted him to._ And Dumbledore had sounded him on this subject too, but he had never brought up the point of forgiving them because they were dead. Well, Snape considered, even if he did forgive them, he still wasn't about to cut his precious hair! A sharp snapping of a twig occurred suddenly behind them, and the pair spun around.

A shaggy black dog faced them. It looked around nervously, then backed off anxiously. McGonagall took one glance at it and whispered, "Sirius?" (Snape, astonished and nervous, had his fingers crossed behind his back. "Oh please don't let it be, oh PLEASE don't let it be!") McGonagall, more sure of herself, left Snape on the bench and walked over to the cowering dog.

"Sirius? Is that…you?" The dog looked anxiously around, as though looking for a place to hide. Suddenly, its eyes turned blacker, its face became less pointy and more round, its hair shrunk back except for that on the head, which grew longer and blacker, and soon a man stood before them.

"Ah!" exclaimed Sirius Black, "So I'm dead and gone, am I?"

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	13. Chapter 15

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

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Chapter 15 

Sirius approached the pair, looking from McGonagall to Snape, and Snape to McGonagall. Snape stood up, eyes flashing.

"A very good afternoon to you, Minerva, and you too…Snivellus." Sirius spat out the last word with venom aplenty. Snape was very mad; his enemy Sirius Black was not going to be the second person in his life to see him with a tearstained countenance. However, McGonagall, who seemed to have recovered from the shock of Sirius showing up, suddenly stepped between them, prepared to defend Snape. Indeed, this seemed to be a day filled with firsts.

"Now that's enough!" she declared, pushing Snape and Sirius away from each other. This was a dangerous feat, for both looked as though they wanted to wring the other's neck. She turned to face both of them.

"I'm not saying that I'm not overjoyed to see you, here and alive, Sirius. But shouldn't you both, in a time such as this, abandon your childish hatreds and look to see the bigger picture?"

Sirius, still keeping an eye on Severus, smiled sardonically.

"Oh, so sorry, Minerva, if I have offended you. But you can't really reproach two old classmates when they address each other with their old--" he paused, sarcastically searching for a word "_affectionate_ nicknames, eh?"

Severus, behind McGonagall's back, gave Sirius a look that plainly read, _"I'll get you later." _

At this, Sirius suddenly thrust his hands in his pockets.

"Oh $!" he ejaculated, and pulled from his pockets' bottomless depths two rocks, one baby blue, and one orange. With a flick of his wand, he changed the first into a young woman.

The girl who emerged before their eyes was very exotic even for Britain. She was about seventeen or eighteen, and of a moderate height for her age. Her skin was of a spicy mocha colour with a hint of saffron; purely of South-American heritage. Dark hair flooded in riverlike ripples over her shoulders, and her large brown eyes looked intelligently at them through stylish black glasses. The clothes she wore were exquisite, (a dark maroon silk ball gown with a stiff whalebone collar and spun gold lace cuffs) but seemed to be a bit big on her. Also, they seemed to not be from this century, but from a hundred years past, perhaps. She looked around quickly, surveying her surroundings with a precursory glance. 

"So this is Hogwarts?" she asked simply of Sirius, looking up at the castle.

"Mhmm," muttered Sirius in response, busy with transforming the second rock. This, in turn, became an adolescent boy.

He was Caucasian, and had brown hair, the length, almost, of the girl's, from lack of a decent haircut. His mischievous blue eyes flew immediately to Snape, for some odd reason, and, grinning, he winked at the black-haired professor. He was short and rather heavy, and with very (unnaturally so!) straight teeth. The clothes he wore consisted of a dark indigo coat with lots and lots of unnecessary lace around the collar and cuffs, and matching pantaloons; in other words, they, like those of the girl's, were the height of fashion a hundred years ago. But, to tell the truth, even Sirius was dressed in similarly odd apparel, only of a dark velvety emerald green. At any rate, passing over this fact as minor, Sirius began the introductions.

"Minerva, this is Réna Gomez and Rio Lipton. Réna and Rio, this is Professor Minerva McGonagall." At this, Réna advanced to shake hands with Minerva while Rio nodded stiffly. Sirius, demonstrative of his hatred for Snape, conveniently forgot to introduce his rival. However, Réna was not about to be cheated from this bit of crucial information.

"And who's this?" she pronounced friendlily, turning to the lanky stranger. He produced a stiff half bow.

"Severus Snape, at your service," he remarked with mock civility, ignoring her outstretched hand. Sirius, at this, stepped between them.

"All right Snivellus, you've had your fun. Just refrain from messing with the girl and you won't get hurt, y' hear?"

Snape was in one of his sardonic moods that followed nearly every episode in which he humiliated himself; nearly every word that escaped his lips was dripping with sarcasm. Now he looked at Sirius with mock reproachfulness.

"Careful now, Black. You should learn to control your over-reacting emotions."

Sirius made an undignified bark of laughter.

"Hah! Fat chance! And end up like a cold, calculating, cowardly fish like--" But Sirius broke off suddenly as Snape whipped his wand from his cloak pocket and held it menacingly at Sirius's neck.

"Say that, one more time, would you?" asked Snape coolly, but with fire kindled in his eyes. The two stared deeply at each other for several moments. To them, the rest of the world didn't exist. McGonagall and Réna were engrossed in this scene, paralysed with attention and rapture. Only Rio watched the proceedings with mild amusement.

"We're going to settle this once and for all," declared Snape vehemently.

Sirius swallowed once to regain his use of speech.

"Yes, let's" he growled in undertones. "When and where?"

"Here…and now." Snape glared and Sirius glared. Neither made a motion to move, however.

"Bravo!"

An unexpected sound of applause accosted them, and both turned their heads. Rio was clapping and smiling with an impressed look on his face.

"It's the Who-Can-Make-the-Best-and-Most-Horrible-Threats Contest!" he exclaimed, still applauding. The momentary lapse of conversation and action between the two antagonists helped to bring McGonagall back to life. In an instant, she stepped over and snatched Snape's wand away from him.

"SEVERUS SNAPE, are YOU out of your MIND?!" she nearly shrieked. With either hand, she slapped both men in unison on their cheeks. "Don't you think there are BETTER things to think about besides old childhood antagonisms?"

Meekly, Snape stepped back from Sirius, looking not at all abashed and still heated. McGonagall gave him a stern warning glance and turned to Sirius and his two companions.

"Where have you been all this time?"

Sirius shook his head.

"That's a story for another place and hour." He paused, looking closely at McGonagall.

"Did something happen to you, Minerva? You look as though you've aged years since I last saw you. You could do with a rest."

"Sirius," asked Minerva, disregarding this comment, "Do you know how long you've been gone?"

"A fortnight" declared Sirius confidently. "By the way, Snivellus, you seem to have taken a beating too. But I'd say you deserved--" Here McGonagall interrupted him before he said something else toxic.

"No, Sirius, you've been gone for three years."

Sirius, at this new information, wrinkled his brow in surprise.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sirius."

At realizing the graveness of this remark, Sirius asked anxiously "Oh God, what's happened to Harry? Is he all right? Where is he?"

McGonagall smiled primly.

"Right now, I believe, he's in the Gryffindor tower preparing for our Halloween ball."

Staring at Minerva, Sirius asked again stupidly, "So he's all right?"

McGonagall nodded. Looking at him, she gently suggested, "Perhaps, Sirius, it would be better if _I_ perhaps broke the news of your sudden arrival to Harry? You see, it would perhaps be too much of a shock for him otherwise."

Sirius nodded meekly.

"Of course Minerva; you're always right."

"Ahem," interposed Snape standoffishly. "And what shall we do with them?" He gestured to Réna and Rio. "I mean, about De Rhone?" he added, reminding McGonagall that Réna and Rio had seen him before his disguise had been resumed. McGonagall looked sadly at them.

"I'll have to wash it all out."

Sirius looked confusedly between the two.

"Wash what out?" he demanded.

Snape shook his head.

"No, just replace me with De Rhone."

Sirius looked even more confused.

"What and where is the Rone?"

"I'll explain later, Sirius after you're done explaining to me where you've been for the last few years," sighed McGonagall, and slowly raised her wand to Rio's head.

"Wait a minute, Minerva," murmured Snape, and he swallowed the contents of a small vial from his pocket. In a split second, his skin began to bubble and darken, and after another half, he stood, completely transformed, in De Rhone's form.

"Polyjuice potion?" asked Réna, surprised. "But isn't that illegal?"

"Yes," replied Snape scathingly. "That's why you shouldn't try this at home, kids," he mused seriously, quoting a Muggle extreme sportsman.

"Hey, what the heck are you doing?"

A flash of light emitted from the end of McGonagall's wand, and in an instant, Rio's memory had been changed. With a shy grin, the boy turned to Sirius and asked, "Hey, where can we get some food, Sirius? I'm starving!"

Réna stared uncomprehendingly. She couldn't believe what had just happened before her eyes.

McGonagall pointed to the castle.

" Rio, go into the Great Hall, and someone will direct you to the kitchens."

"Thanks, Professor." With that, Rio, meandered away.

Réna looked nervously at McGonagall as she raised her wand to do the same.

"Did…did you just erase his memory?"

McGonagall nodded.

"Are you going to do that to me?"

McGonagall again nodded.

Réna looked at Sirius, who made no effort on her behalf, to the criminal using polyjuice, to the odd bespectacled lady before her.

McGonagall comfortingly added, "It won't hurt a bit, I promise, and it won't erase any memories beyond the last ten minutes."

Biting her lip, Réna nodded. "I can forget anything you want me to. Trust me. I-" but Minerva swiftly charmed the girl. In a moment, Réna smiled and asked where Rio had gone. Minerva pointed in the direction of the Great Hall, and soon found herself being gentlemanly escorted there by the most kindly-seeming teacher named Gary De Rhone.

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Minerva sighed with relief.

"Well, that much, at least, is taken care of," she declared, gazing after the retreating backs of De Rhone and Réna Gomez. Then, she turned to Sirius.

"Now explain to me WHAT in heaven's name you were doing with this farce of being dead? I cannot believe you would go through all these lengths, especially after your name was cleared, to-"

"My dear Minerva," Sirius interposed. "It is the most extraordinary story that perhaps you've ever heard. And a rather lengthy one, at that. Let's go inside and confer with Dumbledore. There, you can fill me in on what has happened since I was gone and…my dear Minerva, is something the matter?"

For McGonagall had removed her glasses and was drying her eyes with a white linen handkerchief. One of the few people who still carried handkerchiefs in this day and age, too…

"I'm sorry Sirius," she murmured. "I should have told you first thing. Dumbledore…well, Albus isn't here anymore."

"WHAT?!" roared Sirius. "They managed to pin something on him after all?"

Minerva shook her head and sat down heavily on the bench. Sirius sat beside her, anxious and perplexed. And McGonagall told Sirius the story. The WHOLE story, from beginning to end, about everything and forgetting no small detail.

"Whoa," declared Sirius when McGonagall had concluded. "That's some story. And to think…that whole time…" He broke off, shook his head, and sighed to brace himself. "Well, Minerva, I guess I had better get started with relating my own story—how I came to be trailed by Réna and Rio, and where I've been for the last…two years was it?"

"Three."

"Right. Well," Sirius began, "Here goes. I'm not a very vibrant storyteller, but I'll do my best."

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"That last night at the Department of Mysteries was, as you know, the day I last trod on the solid, real earth from then to now. I slipped accidentally under the veil when whoever it was I was fighting with just then forced me. Nothing seemed to have happened once I was all the way through, and I thought to myself, 'Well, I'll just get up and get back to fighting,' but when I stood up, I realized that I was no longer in the Ministry offices. In fact, I could tell right away that I wasn't even in the world as we know it! At first, it seemed as though it was just very dark. When my eyes became somewhat adjusted to the dimness, however, I saw that, firstly, I was on an open, desolate, moor, for some reason, and that, secondly, everything had lost its colour, and all the world shone back at me in greys and blacks and whites. Confused, I turned around to head back the way I had come, only to find that it wasn't there. I must admit that then, I panicked. I thought at first I was dead and in either heaven or hell. But, then, I realized that if I was, there would be other people, wouldn't there? Or would there? I checked to see if I had my wand—fortunately I hadn't lost it somehow. Anyways, at that moment, I heard a galloping in the distance approaching me from afar, and I hid in the underbrush.

I could see, by the grey light of the lantern he carried as he rode, that the man was dressed in a French-cocked hat, breeches, high boots, and a long coat with gigantic ruffles of lace. His horse would have been beautiful to behold in colour, but even as it was, it looked strong and fierce and intimidating. Obviously they had been running for some time, for both the man and the horse were out of breath somewhat, and, right before me, they slowed down. The man had a silver saber in his belt and two gleaming pistols. Two sacks were placed between him and the neck of the horse, and he leaned in order to keep them on. At first I thought this was a re-enactment of the story of Joseph Geets, the renown wizard highway robber from the eighteenth century, (Do you recall him Minerva? Good.) but then I remembered that my world was all in black and white, and that dispelled that theory. But, despite that, I knew that this was indeed a robber.

The horse stopped then, not ten feet from me, and I could see the man very clearly. Indeed, I was startled to see that this man looked uncannily like the real Joseph Geets, or, at least, remarkably like the pictures I had seen of him. He had the same up-curving, disdainful nose, the same high Cro-Magnon brow, the same pouting, grey lips, and the same air of superiority intermingled with pride. He couldn't have been any other than the celebrity highwayman.

He seemed to have been wounded by a gunshot in his heart, for his shirt was soaked in blood. However painful an injury it seemed to be, the man did not clutch or try and ease the pain. In fact, he seemed completely disregardful of it at all. He heaved himself off the saddle, snatched the bags off of it, and slapped the horse's rump. The horse ran off at once, and the man looked fondly after it for a while. Then he practically dove into the underbrush, where I was hiding from him. I do believe I gave him more of a fright than if I had been the police, for he jumped up immediately, dropping the bags which clinked and which, I supposed, were full of loot.

He drew his gun, and declared briskly, 'Put up your hands and come out of the brambles, slowly, mind you.'

I seemed to have no choice, and, I knew, if necessary, I could reference my criminal record truthfully for the benefit of his empathy, so I boldly got out of the bushes.

'Now who are you and why are you here?' he demanded coldly, his pistol cocked at me and his hand on the hilt of his sword. But as I came into the light, his expression changed to an unfathomable appearance. 'Another live one, are you?' he asked, putting his weapon away. I, rather stunned, looked at him.

'What the devil do you mean, another live one?' I asked of him. (Excuse the language, Minerva. I'm trying to stay as close to what happened as possible.)

He smiled. 'Ah then, but you're harmless enough,' he said quietly, 'You're but a newcomer.'

'And where,' I asked of him, 'Am I exactly a newcomer to?'

He gestured grandly to the moor, as though it were a great spectacle. 'This,' he said impressively, 'is the World of the Murdered, district 1765 A.'

'Murdered?' I asked, a chill creeping up my spine.

'Yes,' he said, sounding as though he explained this every day, 'The land that is not quite hell and not quite heaven, where those who died prematurely at the hand of a fellow human or themselves, by accident or purpose, come to live until they are ready to go to hell or heaven, whichever they belong in. For instance, I was killed by an official of the law when pursued after making a robbery. Despite the fact that he was only trying to maim me, and I was stealing, I came here because my life was cut off before it should have naturally. It's as close to life on earth as one can get besides there, and three advantages are that we cannot feel pain, never need to eat, and never need to sleep, and two disadvantages are that our colours have been drained out of everything, since we are but spirits, and we have neither day nor night. Our world is separated into districts, for instance, this is 1765 A.D. That is to say, everyone who died in 1765 comes here. Spirits cannot move from district to district due to large impenetrable mountain ranges, so we are confined here. Occasionally a live person, such as yourself…by the way, I never caught your name?'

I bowed slightly, with dignity. 'Sirius Black, at your service. And you are…?'

'Joseph Geets.'

'Ah! I thought so; I recognize you from a history book.'

'How interesting; I never should have thought I was notorious as all that! Well, as I was saying, occasionally a live person like you gets into our world accidentally. Unfortunately for them, there is no leaving. That is, until you die.'

I shook my head. 'I'm a wizard, though,' I said, 'Can't I disapparate from here?'

'Just try,' Mr. Geets said to me. I did, I tried to disapparate to my house, to Hogsmede, to the Ministry of Magic, but to no avail. My heart sank at this. I was to be trapped here, forever, with a bunch of dead spirits for my solitary company! He seemed to read my mind, since he nodded understandingly.

'Fortunately for you, though' he added, 'There are some other live people in our district of 1765.'

'Truly?' I asked, slightly cheered.

'Certainly. A few are wizards, even. Come, let's walk to the main city; I shall introduce you.'

I looked back from whence he had come, hearing suddenly the pounding of hooves and the hearty shouts of men. To my surprise, Mr. Geets picked up his bags, slung them over his shoulder, and began walking towards them. I followed, puzzled.

'Aren't those men in the distance coming after you?' I asked.

'Yes,' he replied calmly, not a muscle twitching in his face.

'Then why are we going towards them?' I persevered.

He grinned sheepishly. 'Would you believe me if I told you that they were chasing me only for the fun of it?'

'What? I don't get it,' I replied.

He kept smiling. 'Here in district 1765, it gets slightly dull after awhile. We go about as closely as possible to what our lives would be like, and some of us organize games to keep us occupied. So those coming at us now were lawmen and hunters in their day, and they are merely hunting me for sport.' Here he laid down his sacks and opened one for me to see inside. All there was inside, actually, was some rusty spoons, a battered kettle, and a filthy fireplace poker; absolutely nothing of value.

'Oh,' was all I could see fitting to say here, and we continued on our weary way.

'This is the three thousandth-four hundredth and fifty-first time we've played this,' he elaborated casually as we walked. 'Out of that, I have won one thousand, two hundred and eighty-one times, interestingly enough.'

At this point we met up with the riders. They stopped immediately at the sight of us.

'Geets! What've you got there, man?'

'Another who belongs not here, but in the world of the living.' Joseph Geets gestured to me. 'Sirius Black.' He added, 'Upon the arrival of Mr. Black, I declare that we resume our game later. He deserves a welcoming party.'

The proposal was met with ready agreement, and one man made room for us in his farm wagon, and soon we were off across the moor.

As we rode, I spent a lot of time taking in my surroundings. I found, actually, that the moor was very beautiful if one looked at it in a kind light. The grass waved its long tendrils in the air, looking for all the world like a maiden's glistening hair. The brush was dusty and dry in appearance, but as I caught a branch as we lumbered by, I discovered a great deal of water in it. A slight breeze rippled across my face, and the slight scent of some flower whose name I cannot remember drifted on it. At one point, we had to cross a shallow stream. I noted that although there were many, many fish, all of them had, at least in one place, a cut or unhealed gash where someone had stabbed them. Indeed, after I noticed this, I realized that everywhere I looked I saw destruction and ghosts. The grass, though it was feathery and light, was broken once at least by someone's unwary footsteps. Every flower, though it was just as fragrant as it had been in life, had been once deprived of its tree and seamlessly glued back on again. Even the people and horses were marked by clotted bloodstains on their bodies where someone had slain them. It was very disturbing to me, actually.

Soon we reached their city. This was even more ghastly than the countryside. Motherless children and family-deprived fathers and mothers loitered at the street corners, in the entryways of houses, and in gardens and parks. And yet everything had no colours; everything was black and white.

We stopped in front of one house where a bit of a light could be seen in the window through light lace curtains. It was a small house, segregated into flats, most likely, and very old. We disembarked here and made our way through a white picket gate weighted shut with a chain and heavy iron ball to the heavy American colonial-style door. We knocked with the cast-iron knocker, and almost instantly the door flew open. A short, plump woman with an apron, mob cap, and marks of a noose rope around her neck, ushered us inside without any question and seated us in a waiting parlour with an elaborate harpsichord and horsehair furniture.

We waited for no less than five minutes, and a tall, elegant lady waltzed (I cannot describe it any other way) in with a cheerful smile. Her gown was exquisitely embroidered and must have cost a fortune. Her wig was piled high up onto her head, so high that it nearly brushed against the low beams of the ceiling, and around her neck and in her lobes were jewellery so fine and heavy that it could easily pass as the Crown Jewels. In her hand she held a delicate Chinese fan that perfectly complimented her costume, and her face was powdered beyond all reality. Her appearance in this small, rather dingy American townhouse was puzzling and rather unexpected—she looked like royalty. She, actually, was the first person in this morbid society that showed no sign of death on her, but yet she was black and white also. She smiled faintly at Mr. Geets when she came in.

'Mr. Geets,' she said in a guttural accent that matched her appearance, German most undoubtedly. 'What an unexpected pleasure. Please do me the pleasure of introducing me to this newcomer.'

'Of course, Baroness,' nodded Geets. 'Mr. Sirius Black, may I present to you Baroness Van Brach, formerly of Austria.'

The Baroness extended her hand expectantly. I took it and bent over it in what I considered a gentlemanly way. 'Charmed, I'm sure,' I said decorously.

Geets elaborated on the fact why we were here. 'The Baroness keeps this home for those unfortunates, like you, who come here unintended. She can provide you with a place to stay, I'm sure.'

'Yes, Mr. Black, there is a room that has just recently been vacated by Mr. Thompson of the Netherlands, he died of old age not long ago, poor man. Follow me, sirs.' With that, the Baroness swept her heavily-corseted self out of the room. We followed as she had bid.

'How did the Baroness come to be here?' I whispered to Geets as we walked down the hall.

'Her husband poisoned her; she doesn't like to talk about it,' he replied to me.

Soon we came to a room, at the end of a hallway, that the Baroness opened with a huge ring of keys. She flung it open, and I saw my room for the first time. It was somewhat bare and rustic; the floors were huge roughly-hewn boards at least five inches across, fastened with dark pegs. A barrel-backed chair stood at the foot of a four-poster of short length and of broad width. A simple clock hung on the wall, a bayberry candle and stand stayed unlighted on the bay windowsill, and a still simpler wardrobe stood on one side of an un-ornate mantel and large brick fireplace. On the other side was another chair, a ladder-back this time, and a simple desk with a quill and inkwell. The wallpaper was Chinese, and probably very colourful. The bed was warm-looking and inviting.

'There are clothes that probably will fit you in the wardrobe,' murmured the Baroness. 'If you need anything at any time, pull the bell-pull, and my maid Elise shall acquire it for you. Good day, gentlemen.' With that, Van Brach swished out of the room.

Almost immediately after she left, a young girl of perhaps eighteen burst into the room (This is Réna Gomez). She was dressed in rich garb like that of the Baroness', only she and her clothes had colour. It was a feast for my eyes to see something so vivid after so much desolate dimness. She explained that she had seen us arrive through the window, and that she was so excited that someone new was here. Geets knew her, and introduced us. Almost as abruptly as she came in, however, she was dragging me out of the room to meet the other live people.

Soon she had congregated all the people in her room, which was one of the larger ones. Besides Réna, there was Rio Lipton, whom you also have met, and two others, one elderly gentleman called Almanzo Dixon, and a positively revolting woman of middle age who gave her name as Cecilia Doverman. Mr. Geets remained just for the sake of having nothing better to do.

They all were eager to hear the story of how I came to be in the World of the Murdered. It took some lengthy explanation to go over why I was in the Department of Mysteries in the first place, but the rest of my story was simple enough. Afterwards, Réna gave us her story of how she came to be there, too. She explained how she was an American witch, and how, one day, while trying to learn to disapparate inside a church while visiting her family in Puerto Rico, suddenly made some sort of crucial error and ended up here. She persuaded Rio to give his story too—he was an Irish wizard, and he had been playing in his grandma's attic when he was six, and went into a cupboard only to come out here. British Cecilia Doverman had a similar experience, though she was not a witch. Mr. Dixon said nothing the entire time, just smiled and nodded complacently. I tried to ask him how he came to be there, but he said nothing just nodded. Réna explained how he never said anything, and probably couldn't hear them anyways, and that he never had explained to them how he came to be there, and he probably never would. In addition, the three who actually contributed to the conversation noted that there was one other Muggle woman here, who had gone to get groceries just a while ago, and would probably be back soon.

All this time, I must assure you, Minerva, that though, as I tell it, I seem not to have been concerned at all about Harry and what was going on at the Ministry and everything and everyone I had left behind, I was indeed perplexed and anxious over the fate of those here. Half my mind never left England, and the rest of it remained worried about that half, if that makes any sense at all. Well, I knew I would never return home, and I very much regretted that. But, then, this really has little relevance to the story, so I am going to leave this as it is, I was just letting you know.

Anyhow, so then there came a tapping of pebbles being thrown at the window, and we all looked to see some of the hunters I had met earlier attracting our attention. Someone threw open the sash and the hunters declared that there was a party at the local tavern, for me. Feeling highly flattered, I left with Mr. Geets, Miss Gomez, Mr. Lipton, and Mrs. Doverman. No one thought to drag along Mr. Dixon.

The party was fine, and we all came home quite light-hearted. Before retiring to sleep, Réna introduced me to Alexandrovna Yavolanich, the other live person whom I had not met earlier. She was a Russian Muggle balalaika player. Minerva, I don't know if you've ever been in love, but, I feel that, most certainly, I fell in love with Alexandrovna. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen—beautiful blonde locks falling in curls over her shoulders, though she tried to tame them, a perfect, heart-shaped face, eyes of pale blue, like ice, and cheeks so exquisite they might have been roses in disguise. She knew a little English, and she smiled when I came in. She played the balalaika while singing for us a bit before we all went to bed. Her voice was divine, and the song mysterious and native to her culture. Good Lord, Minerva, if I could but see Alexandrovna again, I would die happy.

But, to make a long story short, my existence in the World of the Murdered was, after all, rather peaceful. Occasionally I would play a hunter in the games of chase-the-robber with Geets and others, and I was teaching Alexandrovna to read and write English. All until one day, just a week before Christmas.

Rio and Réna were having a very heated argument over some petty thing or other. I was in the midst of physically separating them when, suddenly, I felt as though I were using a portkey, and I almost instantly found myself in front of my mother's portrait, in my house, which was burning. I found that Réna and Rio were there too, and we were all surrounded by the flames. I thought quickly and demanded they grab onto me. They did so, and I disapparated, and we ended up in the middle of London on a bus. We looked very odd in our garb straight from the colonial district of 1765 A.D., so we almost immediately jumped out of the bus. In turn, because I thought I was still a marked man, I switched into my animagus form, and I trotted meagrely with Réna and Rio.

We went, then, to take Réna home to America, only to find that all her family had been killed by Death Eaters. We went also to Rio's home, but his family had moved away, and no one could tell us anything about where they had gone. So we went to my house, then, but everything had been locked up tightly with a 'For Sale' sign out front. And then we made our way here."

Minerva sat for a moment, just contemplating all of this. "Astonishing, Sirius. You could create a book from that."

"I could, couldn't I?"

"It would go down well with the public, I think."

"I agree with you, actually. My only regret is that I don't have the patience to write it. Perhaps you could sometime, Minerva, when all of this ridiculous foolishness with You-Know-Who is over."

"I just might, Sirius, I just might."

_

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Indifferent? Review.

Hate it? Still review.

Love it? Especially review. 

_Main point: REVIEW PLEASE! _


	14. Chapter 16

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

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Chapter 16 

Snape retired to his room. Now what sort of respectable, law-abiding and unsuspicious sort of costume could he come up with? He looked at his materials with disdain. These consisted of:

His favourite black cape, trousers, and jacket

Several scarves (one with Slytherin colours, one black, one vivid red)

A pressed and completely unused tan raincoat (a present from his mother last Christmas)

His old and trusted black waterproof

A dog collar (confiscated by himself last year from Jake Porter, who had worn it around his neck)

A khaki jacket that had belonged to the actual De Rhone

A stiff set of dress robes

A blue shawl knitted by his mother

A red handbag (he had no idea about this…)

A few bow ties (red, black, and a different kind of black) and two neckties (one black, one with black with white pinstripes on it)

An ebony walking-stick with a silver handle (given him by Lucius Malfoy, when sent to Azkaban, 'to keep safe for me for a time')

A worn brown fedora he had salvaged from a broom closet once

A red and white bobble-hat (like Where's Waldo)

A cardboard party hat (from when he once attended a Hogwarts staff party)

An assortment of clothes which made up De Rhone's favourite garb

A pair of brown slacks

Snape felt clueless for a time, hesitating whether just to dress as an amazing imitation of 'Snape' or not, when, absently, he placed the fedora on his head. He was pleased with the effect; he was definitely going to wear this, no matter what. He began to think of people who wore fedoras, in wizard and Muggle lore alike. There was Indiana Jones from those magnificent but highly fictitious Muggle movies, Sam Spade from that old Muggle classic _The Maltese Falcon_, Jack Thomason from the wizard radio show "What's for Dinner, Duchess?", Inspector Clusoe from that humorous spoofy movie _The Pink Panther_…wait a moment, there was an idea. Snape shoved on the tan raincoat over a white starched shirt, brown vest, and brown trousers. He tied on the black necktie and looked at himself in the mirror. It was pretty good, but something was missing…oh yes, _a la moustache. _ Gingerly, he rubbed some charcoal on his upper lip, which worked just fine for an imitation of facial hair. But still this picture lacked something…oh yes. Hurriedly, Snape went digging in the drawers of his bureau and emerged, eventually, with a lined notepad and a Muggle pencil. Tucking the latter behind his ear and the former sloppily in his coat pocket so that it was partly sticking out, he glanced in the mirror one more time. Yep, that was a pretty good makeshift costume, all right! Satisfied with his raiment of a human foxhound on the chase of clues (scattered around in very obvious places right under his nose), he stepped out the door.

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Harry sat, absently, in the otherwise empty Gryffindor common room, wondering what in the world to do for a costume. The ball was starting in an hour and a half. He looked up to notice Cherry descend the stairs, her eyes slightly red, from the girls' dormitory. "Hey," he called.

"Hey," she replied somewhat throatily. She meandered over to him cautiously, as though he were some sort of wild animal.

"I don't bite," Harry reassured her, then jestingly made a ferocious sharklike snap in closing his mouth. Cherry smiled at his attempt at amusement. Slowly she sighed.

"So, Potter, you probably already have a partner for the dance, don't you?"

"Yep. Ginny Weasley." Harry wondered why she addressed him by "Potter" rather than "Harry." It wasn't in a mean way that she said it, but rather it seemed as though it were some sort of an odd, more formal alternative to using a first name. It seemed like she neither liked him nor hated him, but would have been more comfortable using "Mr. Potter" when speaking to him. In other words, "Potter" was a compromise betwixt "Mr. Potter" and "Harry."

"Good for you. Do you know of anyone…er, without a partner? A guy," she added hastily.

Harry shook his head. "You might try Neville Longbottom; he probably doesn't have a girl yet."

Cherry shook her head. "He does. He's going with Michele. Montessori."

Harry racked his brains. "What about Colin Creevy? Last I checked, he was partnerless." This had been two days ago, but Harry didn't bother to mention that.

Cherry again shook her head. "He's in the hospital wing after some Slytherin fired a hex at him. His ears were--this big" She demonstrated roughly size of a volleyball.

"Wow" murmured Harry appropriately. He tried to think some more. "I heard that Evan Holmes was in need of a girl after he broke up with what's-her-name."

"He's got a new girlfriend AND a dance partner, who both happen to be the same person."

Harry shrugged his shoulder. "I'm really sorry, Cherry, but that's all the people I can think of."

She waved away the comment with her hand. "It's ok. Thanks for trying to help, at least." She suddenly looked at him curiously. "Hey, what are you doing? One would think that you would be getting your costume ready."

"I don't know what to wear," frowned Harry. At this, rather ridiculous, comment, Cherry tilted her head to the right and squinted at him closely. He noticed that she had an odd habit of closing her right eye a lot. It made her look a little lopsided. Suddenly, without warning, she snatched a dark crimson throw off of where it had been draped over the couch.

"Stand up," she demanded curtly. Obediently, Harry stood. Cherry approached him, and draped the throw over his shoulders. She seemed careful to remain always at arms-length distance from him. After fiddling with the throw for a minute or so, she muttered to herself, "I need pins," and turned to the stairs. "Be right back," she assured him, and ran up the stairs two at a time in a very sprightly manner considering the fact that she was more on the heavy side. Harry was careful not to move until his tailor came down the stairs again, arms full with a wood jewellery box shaped like a piano, a porcelain heart-shaped violet-covered box, and a basket with various other supplies. She dumped these all gently on the side table. As she opened the heart-shaped box, it began to play a sad tune that sounded vaguely familiar to Harry.

"What's that song?" he asked.

"_Dr. Zhivago_," she stated. "The song's actually called _Lara's Theme_ or _Somewhere My Love_, but I usually refer to it by the name of the Muggle movie it's from" she elaborated.

"Lovely tune," Harry noted.

"It's one of my favourites," put in Cherry as she carefully picked out a few gold safety pins from the mess of stuff within the box. She carefully began to pin the shawl in certain places, and soon she looked pleased with the results. Then she tossed Harry some gold paper and a pair of scissors. "Make yourself a crown, King Arthur."

Subserviently, Harry began to cut out a sort of crown shape from the paper. The paper was thick, so it was slow going, but eventually he had cut out a large enough piece of paper. It was a little jagged, but it was all right. He took a bit of tape from the basket and taped it together. Now it was done. In the meantime, Cherry had opened the other, piano-shaped box. It began to play a song that Harry recognized from watching TV at the Dursley's, _Can You Feel the Love Tonight_ from Walt Disney's _The Lion King._ From the box Cherry picked out a circular imitation-ruby-and-gold broach, which she pinned onto him. As a last embellishment, she presented him with a plastic sword.

"Hey," said Harry, looking at his reflection in the glass above the fireplace, "this costume is great. Thanks, Cherry. But you know you didn't need to do this."

"Thy knowest that. Thou art most verily welcome, sire," she smiled, curtseying low. With that, she scooped up her boxes and basket. "Your most humble tailor recedes once more into the background," she declared artfully as she disappeared once again up the stairs.

Harry suddenly realized something. "Hey, wait!" He ran to the foot of the stairs. "What about your stuff?"

"Return it tomorrow. Or, sire, if it strikes your fancy, keep it. I am not wanting of it," she called shrilly from the door of her dorm. Harry heard a slam as she closed it.

"Boo" remarked Ginny dully, down the stairs from the seventh-year's dorm. "Nice costume."

"Thanks." As he said this, Ginny stepped from the stairwell into the light of the fire and candles. The result was dazzling. She was dressed as a flower fairy, with fragile, glistening wings and a thin chiffon dress. It was reminiscent of Tinker-bell. Even as she walked, a faint tinkle came from a few bells around her ankles. Her hair had obviously taken time to do; it was piled high on top of her head and was a nice contrast to her billowing green dress.

"How do I look?" she asked simply, twirling for his eyes' benefit.

"You…you look beautiful" he sighed just as simply. He took her hand.

"Thank you. I came up with all this myself," she explained. "Except for the hair, though. I must take no credit for that; I had it in a ponytail, but Hermione decided to fix it a little, and it turned out like this."

"It all is very beautiful," repeated Harry, and he led her to the couch, where they sat together, waiting for Ron and Hermione.

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Later, Harry was walking down the corridors, arm in arm with Ginny. Although they were not officially 'together' per se, they could still be each other's escort for dances. Behind them, Hermione and Ron were talking in low voices as they walked with each other. With bad memories from the Yule ball in his fourth year to spur him on, Ron quickly had asked Hermione to accompany him before the equivalent of a second Viktor Krum came along and scooped her up. At any rate, the four were heading down a bit early to the feast.

Their costumes were home-made, created with only what materials they had been able to get their hands on. Ginny, as we already know, was a fairy, and Ron, using candy vampire's teeth from Honeydukes, had come up with a fairly frightening Dracula. Hermione, (whose mother accidentally packed her husband's work coat in her daughter's trunk, and the latter, incidentally, never had remembered to send it back home), wore the authentic garb of--a dentist. (creepy music) So King Arthur went with fairy, and Dracula went with dentist. That's somewhat ironic, actually.

At any rate, the four of them were heading downstairs a bit earlier than necessary, partly because Harry wanted to keep an eye on the D.L.A. He desperately wanted them and their activities tripped up before they could do any serious damage.

Others, like them, too eager for the festivities to sit still in their common rooms, emerged. Lizzie Bethany, a pretty but frivolous Hufflepuff fourth-year in the costume of a Greek goddess, (Aphrodite, it seemed, from the heart-shaped locket round her neck) tripped gaily up and down the halls. She was with a heavy-set boy named Duncan Marvin, a Hufflepuff fifth-year, who looked like he was supposed to be Bacchius, with a bunch of grapes, but he looked as though he wondered how he got so darn lucky as to get such a lovely partner. Lia strode swiftly by, donned in the garb of a Medieval noblewoman and talking with her escort Jake Porter, who had dressed as a wolf. Close behind them were Terry Boot and Cassie Nord, whose manner towards each other as they stiffly walked, arm in arm, showed that they had chosen each other clearly as last resorts. (Terry was a not-too-obvious and loosely-configured James Bond, Cassie was clearly a swashbuckling pirate.) Even Tyler Fowler, wandering down the halls in his aimless way (dressed as a safari tourist complete with camera), who seemed as though he would be one of those persons left high and dry, without an escort to the festivities, was tackled by the flighty Ravenclaw fifth-year Davita Florcat. She, dressed as a princess, pounced on him with a drawn-out, "Oh, Tyler? Would you be my partner for the ball? Just as friends?" 

"Hey, sure!" Tyler grinned, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose.

All in all, things seemed to be shaping up. When everyone had reached the great hall, it looked like for sure it was going to be a splendid time. Soon McGonagall had said a brief address, the feast had been finished, and the dancing had begun. Harry kept as good an eye as anyone could while sweeping across the floor with Ginny in his arms on Crabbe, Goyle, and De Rhone. The former two were dressed as clowns; very appropriate to their characters, in Harry's opinion. For the most part, Malfoy's former allies treaded on their girls' feet, and eventually ended up quitting the dancing and receding back to the dessert tables. De Rhone, dressed as someone Harry didn't recognize, chatted jovially with the other teachers over coffee, but that was before Cherry Peterson (who, hadn't found a partner, by the way. Her costume was simple and not elaborate— Rhine maiden) asked him to dance a round with her, quite shyly. Puzzled, and with a sidelong glance at Hermione and Ron, Professor De Rhone acquiesced and took up the floor with her. At first, even while they danced, they still seemed nervous and unfriendly to each other, but, when Cherry stumbled in her high-heeled shoes, they laughed together, and that seemed to break the ice. At that point, Harry and Ginny had tired, though, and seated themselves on a bench next to a bewildered Dracula and fuming dentist.

"It isn't decent!" spat out Hermione angrily to Harry and Ginny as she scooted over to make room for them on the bench. "It isn't right!" She glared at Harry, daring him to say anything to the contrary.

"What's not right? What's indecent?" asked Ginny soothingly, patting Hermione's shoulder.

"That he's…well…that he's dancing…yes, DANCING…with a STUDENT!" spluttered Hermione.

"Who is?" asking Harry, although he had a very good idea who 'who' was…

"De Rhone," sighed Ron, "And he's dancing with Cherry Peterson. Ugh." He shivered involuntarily. "Well, the point is, Hermione's jealous."

"I AM NOT!" protested Hermione hotly. "What I mean is…well, students are SUPPOSED to dance with STUDENTS, not with TEACHERS."

"Oh, come off of it!" declared Ron, annoyed and slightly jealous himself of Hermione's attentions. "You know what a horrible time the girl has had here all year. But you'd never guess it by the way she is now!"

And indeed, Cherry had lost her constant stern look of disapproval, and was, in fact, giggling with merriment, although she strove to conceal her mirth. At times, she turned her head down to look at her shoes, a happy grin on her face, only to look up again a second later, completely composed and refined-looking as she could try to be. However, in another moment, she would relapse into smiling again.

"Gosh, that girl doesn't know that it's ok to have fun," commented Ginny sadly, staring into space. Harry put his hand to his chin as he pondered over this remark.

"You know, I believe you're right," he mused, watching De Rhone and Cherry. He thought back to earlier that evening. Apparently, remembering the way she had looked while dressing him up earlier that evening, keeping herself busy with some sort of job was her idea of fun. At this moment, though Cherry was trying to hide her smile with a swish of her head. The Professor's eyes were clearly following the pattern of the sideboard that ran along the wall with an appraising eye. Harry again felt a cold shiver pass over him; this man was scary at how much he resembled Snape in some ways. With that same cold, calculating eye, Snape had observed Harry countless times, both for no reason and when in suspicious circumstances. As the pair twirled by, De Rhone caught Harry's eye for a fleeting moment. As he did so, Harry got the impression that despite his calm, rather amused features, De Rhone was laughing internally at HIM.

Dauntlessly, Harry stared determinedly stared after the Professor's retreating figure, showing no fear. At this point, Harry felt a tap on his shoulder. He broke his gaze unwillingly.

"Harry, let's go into the gardens It's so stuffy in here" The fairy was calling him from his reverie.

Harry sniffed the air. "It's not stuffy to me. Besides, it's cold outside!" Ginny grabbed his arm.

"Why can't boys ever learn to take hints?" she hissed under her breath. "Come _on_ Harry, I want to tell you something."

"Oh, yeah, right, it IS getting a bit stuffy," said Harry loudly as Ginny practically dragged him out the door.

It was getting a bit late in the evening. The wind was nippy and burnt Harry's fingers. Noticing that Ginny was shivering slightly in her light lacy costume, he gallantly pulled off his own crimson robe and wrapped it around her like a shawl. (He had been wearing his daily robes underneath, so he wasn't very cold without it.) Ginny fondled it affectionately. "Anyone would think" she said "by the way you were watching her just now that you'd fallen for that total _lump_ of a Cherry!"

"I wasn't watching her!" protested Harry. "I was watching De Rhone. Anyways, I don't even like her all that much." He laughed suddenly, adding unnecessarily, "Her hair isn't as nice a red as yours."

Ginny rolled her eyes, implying 'that wasn't funny, just stupid, but I'm not going to say anything…'

Harry disregarded this, and Ginny spoke again. "You know what? She dyes her hair."

"What? Why?" asked Harry.

"So she and her sister look more identical" replied Ginny, sighing.

"So they AREN'T identical twins?"

"Good thinking, Watson," nodded Ginny.

"Interesting."

"Yeah, isn't it? But you could tell by their eye colours. Anyhow, I just found that out today. She asked me if she could consider washing the colour out."

"Really? What's her natural hair colour?"

"Blonde."

"Oh," Harry thought of the racist dumb-blonde jokes he had heard from Dudley over the years. It was ironic that he should tell them, because he was blonde. "I don't blame her for dying it, then." He hesitated a moment before telling Ginny about Tailor Cherry, but then decided that it was ok, that Ginny wouldn't be jealous because he had talked about the incident with her. So, he began, "Now for my amazing revelation; she made my costume."

Ginny looked at him sharply. "How is that?"

Harry explained the incident deftly, assuaging any suspicious thoughts that may have dwelt in Ginny's mind. Afterwards she smiled at him, and her only comment was that he should probably return the broach and sword via her, and that night.

Slowly, the couple had been meandering over near the gazebo. Now they sat on the hard cold stone bench together. Harry put his arm around Ginny involuntarily. "Let's change the subject, shall we?" he mused warmly, leaning against Ginny, who nudged, in turn, closer to him.

"Yes, lets" she agreed, resting her warm head on his chest. They snuggled a few minutes, just enjoying being there, safe and sound, just the two of them. After a time, Ginny looked up into Harry's eyes, moving in a bit too intimately.

"Harry," she breathed.

"No," declared Harry firmly. "I can't. We're stretching our strings as it is right now."

"Just once?" she pleaded, whispering, "No one's around."

"Oh, fine," gave in Harry, and I think we had better skip over this part for the sakes of anyone under the age of 13 who may be reading this…ahem. So anyhow, after Harry and Ginny disentangled themselves from each other, they decided that it was, after all, getting slightly chilly, and they went in the castle headed towards the Gryffindor common room, hand in hand under the bright full moon.

Meanwhile, inside, the ball was coming to a close. Ron sat back, half asleep, next to Luna Lovegood (who had dressed as a zebra), wondering hazily where in the world Hermione had gotten to. The only couples who remained on the dance floor were Blue Cadenza and Morgan Brown (Hufflepuff fourth-year and Slytherin fifth year), Emile La Crois and Jem Tailor (Ravenclaw sixth years, both of them), and Tyler and Davita. The first pair looked very tired, the second pair looked like they were about to drop, but the third looked very caffeine-high and like they could keep on dancing all night. Finally, Jem and Emile moved off the dance floor and out of the hall, followed closely by Blue and Morgan. This left just Tyler and Davita on the floor, and they showed no signs of stopping. Slowly, other people began to file out of the hall, beginning with the teachers that had stayed until now, then small groups of students who wearily walked to their common-rooms. Soon, the only ones left were the two dancers, Ron (fast asleep), Luna (lost in her own little world as she drew absorbedly on a paper napkin), and Filch (who had begun to manually snuff out the candles). Even when the lights started going out, Tyler and Davita kept on dancing. Soon, McGonagall swept in to see that everything was closed up, waking up Ron and demanding that he and Luna get off to bed. Then, looking at the weary musicians still playing and at the couple on the floor still dancing, decided that Tyler and Davita were not going to give up for a very long time. She ran out of the room and returned almost two minutes later with two medals. She tapped Ron's shoulder again to wake him up, then went over to Davita and Tyler, pausing them in their reverie.

"To our two winners of the dance-off!" she explained exasperatedly, handing one to each.

"Hey! That's awesome!" declared Tyler "I didn't even know there was a contest!"

"Me either!" squeaked Davita eagerly.

"Umm…yes. Well, the dance is over!" announced McGonagall, "Everyone to his common room."

"Hey, that was fun!" giggled Davita to Tyler as they walked out the door. "We should do that again sometime."

"Yeah. Right" agreed Tyler, and then they turned around the corner.

Ron, in the meantime, had drifted off to sleep again, but when Filch 'accidentally' bumped into him, Ron jumped up and ran out of the hall, followed by a demure Luna, whom he had knocked over in his flight. And so was the end of the ball.

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	15. Chapter 18

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

Chapter 17

Another meeting of the Order

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Approaching holidays--Harry

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Approaching holidays-- Gary  
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Chapter 18

…Ron, Harry, and Hermione entered the house. With not even the remotest of help to kept itself neat, Sirius' house had gone to ruin. Dust covered everything thickly. Cobwebs hung from every rafter, ledge, and sill. More infesting vermin had lodged themselves in, too. At least, though, Harry consoled himself as he looked sadly over their work undone from years ago, there weren't as many as when they first attempted to tame the unruly mansion. Hermione brought out buckets, mops, and soap, and conducted Ron to get water from the tap to boil and heat.

"Let's make this fun, if it is at all possible," she commented to Harry as Ron lugged a giant cauldronful of water into the room.

"This is going to be a sort of party--a cleaning party."

"Oh joy!" muttered Ron sarcastically to Harry. Hermione took no notice.

"We are thoroughly going to enjoy ourselves and not think of the sad things that occurred here" she persevered. Harry nodded in agreement, not speaking. True, he couldn't wait to be rid of this house, but it had to be back in shape before he could sell it. And for that, there was only him and his friends to do it. (Mrs. Weasley was not here because they knew she would have a 'tizzy fit,' as Ron aptly put it, over how badly the house had fared with no inhabitants over the years.) At least the house-elf Kreacher wasn't here to be tripped over and to horde mementoes of his mistress away where they wouldn't find them for a long time.

Anyhow, they attacked the house forcefully, full of confidence, tackling the rooms they had completed before first. It was not extremely heavy work, but it was work all the same. In the first two hours, they finished scouring the kitchen, probably the most essential room except the bathroom. It gleamed when they were done with it. Then they began the living room. Only once over the course of the morning did they accidentally draw back the curtains that covered the screaming portrait of Mrs. Black. The trio were enjoying themselves, and even Harry was able to forget about everything on his mind for a while. Just before lunch, though, they had an unexpected visitor.

The bell rang at a quarter to twelve. It jingled in the entry hall, shaking the dust of the years off it as it tolled. At first, no one answered it; they were too busy cleaning and besides, no one was expected. After the third or fourth ring, though, Hermione finally noticed it and demanded that Ron go and answer it. He did so, eager for an excuse for an extra break from scrubbing the baseboards with an old toothbrush. When he opened the door, he was in for a great surprise--it was Professor De Rhone who stood smiling at him on the doorstep. De Rhone strode in without a word, and the bright look on his countenance dimmed as he looked at the grimy walls.

"Hullo Professor!" remarked Ron cheerily. "Come to see us busy at work renovating this old place?"

"Oh, er, yes." De Rhone seemed uncomfortable talking about the object of his visit. He turned to Ron.

"Where are Hermione and Harry?" he queried nonchalantly.

"Living room."

"Ah." replied De Rhone, and walked down the corridor to the living room, leaving Ron behind.

"One might suppose he'd been here before." muttered Ron under his breath as he followed after the professor. "He didn't even ask the way."

"Hello Professor!" exclaimed Hermione as she noticed him entering. Harry noticed that she was flushed a bit red, seemingly from the exertion of cleaning or of something else…

"Hey Miss Granger. Hey Potter." De Rhone nodded back warmly. He began to walk aimlessly around the room, looking at the various trinkets and baubles in the cupboards and on the shelves.

"Anything we can do for you, _Professor?_" asked Harry coldly, his words rigid as ice. He really didn't like De Rhone. The nerve to just barge into someone else's house and not even give a good reason for doing so! As though reading Harry's angry thoughts, De Rhone replied imperturbably.

"Oh, well, I just was on my way to London, and I happened to be passing through, and so I just stopped by to say hello since I knew you three were spending the holidays here cleaning. Dumbledore recommended that I stop by and see if there was anything I could bring back for you from Daigon Alley or something." He was complacent and cool. Too cool for Harry's taste, though.

Hermione dropped her mop with a clunk. Harry could see that she looked as red as a radish. She giggled, but said nothing. Ron replied politely.

"I dunno. Hermione, can you think of anythi--" But Harry rudely interposed.

"I'm afraid we don't need a thing from London" he noted icily. De Rhone, somewhat stricken by Harry's lack of civility, gave a curt bow.

"Oh. So sorry to have troubled you all, then." He turned and walked out of the room. Just before they heard the door slam, he called,

"I'll be seeing you."

Hermione was positively livid. "Harry! Why did you need to be so rude?" He only wanted to be kind!"

Harry shrugged. "I am suspicious that he came for more than he let on. I don't trust De Rhone, not one inch. He's a slippery character, in my opinion. I wouldn't give him so much as a farthing, much less your heart, Hermione."

Harry felt Hermione's red-hot glare upon him, and disregarded Ron's comment of,

"What's a farthing? A kind of pepper? Or a new Quidditch team?"

Hermione burst out at Harry, "Do you know, I do believe you're jealous of Professor De Rhone. "

"Far from it," murmured Harry in reply, thinking sadly of Ginny safe at the Burrow for the holidays…

Hermione made a sort of disbelieving "harrumph!" noise, and went back to vigorously scrubbing the floor. Harry resumed also. A moment had scarcely passed, though, when Hermione threw her mop on the floor.

"I'm going to go make lunch!" she declared vehemently, glowering at Harry.

"Go right ahead, I could eat a whole hippogriff!" stated Ron in reply, but Hermione ignored him completely and was already sweeping off into the kitchen.

"Why isn't anyone listening to me today?" he moaned, walking backwards into a pail of water. It overturned, and spilled soapy murky water all over the place.

"Oh bloody hell!" swore Ron, and Harry stifled a laugh as he soaked up the mess with his mop. Soon they could hear pots clanking and clunking, and not long after, a delicious smell wafted in from the kitchen.

Lunch passed without further mishap, and was actually quite delicious. Afterwards, the trio commenced their cleaning duties, but somehow Hermione got herself situated in a different room than the boys. She was waging a cold war with Harry over De Rhone.

They did not stop working until teatime, when Ginny and Tam showed up with a tin of biscuits and scones from Mrs. Weasley. True, according to Hermione's agenda, they had been planning to skip tea completely.

"Americans NEVER take tea! They content themselves with three meals a day, and get off quite fine on that!" she claimed when Ron and Harry had protested earlier that day.

"Well, we aren't American, Hermione!" had been Ron's defence, and Harry had an idea that she had brought up the Americans only because of Professor De Rhone.

She had noticed that the Professor never showed up for tea at Hogwarts, because he had claimed genially upon the asking, "It'd be odd to suddenly start having four meals a day, when I've been so used to three all my life!" Perhaps she was taking a leaf from his book, but Harry didn't know for sure. Anyhow, the trio did break for tea, much to the delight of Harry and Ron (especially Harry) and to the disgruntlement of Hermione.

Tam, today, had subdued her hair from its short acid-greenness to long black hair. Obviously she paid little regard for the standard attire of the wizard, for her clothes were all Muggle. Her shirt was black, and it had a picture of a black cat and pink hearts on it, along with some cryptic Chinese characters. She kept up the black/Oriental motif with the black armband she wore that stated, "I (Chinese character for love) Anime." She had added liberal amounts of eye-shadow to her face, and the natural dark circles under her eyes made her look very Goth indeed. She was talking about her pet subject, lycanthropy.

"Werewolves have fascinated me for years," she chatted merrily. "One of my professors in the states is doing a big research project on finding a cure for bites, and occasionally she let me help her in her studying. It's dangerous work if we don't do it properly, 'cause, obviously, we could get bitten ourselves, but we watch our experiments through a window in a locked room. Right before I came here, Sammie Murphy (my professor) was elated because some werewolf actually had died accidentally when it was the full moon (it was hit by a two-ton diesel pickup), and she was going to dissect it."

Hermione shuddered. "How horrible. What did its family think of that?"

Tam shrugged. "They had, so it seemed, previously signed a contract that would enable investigators (i.e. us) to use its body for 'educational purposes.' So, actually, the family had no say in it."

Hermione shook her head sadly. "It still is horrible. Imagine some stranger taking apart your body after you've died and doing who knows what with it." She abruptly changed the subject. "So what exactly are you doing in England, Tam, if you've got such an important project at home?"

"I'm working on it!" protested Tam, in a tone that she might have used had someone accused her of not doing her homework. "I actually came over here to make observations of the werewolf community here. To see how and if werewolves act differently on different continents, and if, possibly, that could be due by their biting trees."

"Biting trees?" Ron jumped into the conversation at this. "Like the Whomping Willow at Hogwarts, only they bite?"

"No, no, not actual trees—who bit whom and so on and so on, like a family tree, only for biting."

"Oh," murmured Ron apologetically. Harry put in a question.

"Have you done much research on Fenrir Greyback?"

Tam's expression turned from amused to darkly devious. "Yes, actually, I have," she stated, "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just wondering," mumbled Harry.

Tam went on, "Greyback is actually a very interesting character. Instead of dreading the full moon, like the majority of werewolves do, he savours every moment of it that he can get, beforehand placing himself purposefully in highly residential areas where there are lots of children. His most frequent attack range are alleyways and slums, where orphaned children sleep in boxes on the sidewalks and behind dumpsters, but he has been known to smash the windows and break into foster homes, too."

Harry remembered what Luna had said about the Quibbler's article on Greyback trying to find the Chain of the Founders. "Um, Tam," he asked, "Have you ever heard of the 'Chain of the Founders?' It supposedly is able to change the cycle of the moon and sun to however the wearer wishes. Do you believe that such a thing exists, and, if it does, if Greyback would use it to help Voldemort in conquering the world?"

Tam nodded slowly. "I've heard of it. Actually, if Greyback were to get his hands (er, paws!) on the Chain of the Founders, I have no doubt that he would use it . After all, he could create an eternal full moon. Then he and his minions would rampage the world until everyone was either dead, captured, or a werewolf too. I can even imagine him taking the risk of overthrowing Voldemort at that point."

"Wow," commented Ginny. "It would practically be the end of the world."

"Precisely. But then, there remains the doubt that it even exists."

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The fire, the apparition

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	16. My favorite chapter in this bloody piece

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

_Chapter 19_

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_A nightmare_

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_Horocrux Helga's cup_

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_Chapter 20_

_Back to Hogwarts_

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_Cherry's oddities_

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_Chapter 21_

_Permission to tell_

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Gary/Severus slipped the letter into her bag when he 'accidentally' bumped into her in the halls later that day. He both hoped and didn't hope that she would lose it, forget about it, or just not come. But he had to get this over with. And besides, he wanted her to be the first to know what he had not done.

At eight o'clock sharp, De Rhone was outside, waiting behind a large rock. He wondered, half-hoping it to be so, that Hermione was occupied elsewhere that evening. To both his dismay and delight, he saw her coming slowly near, looking very suspicious and with her wand upraised. When she came near enough to see him, he stepped into the beam of light that streamed down from an upstairs turret window, glistening on the snow underfoot.

Her delicate face held a look of both curiosity and bewilderment when she saw him. Possibly, no, undoubtedly, she had been expecting someone else. She stepped back. "Professor De Rhone?"

"Yes Miss Granger?"

"I mean, where is…what is…" She was confused. In reply, he looked at his feet, trying to stifle a smile.

"Oh. I see." She eyed him oddly. "Did you mean what you said in that letter?"

"Yes. Why else would I write it?"

"I don't know." She appeared excited now. "Why didn't you say anything before? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was…afraid." Gary almost inaudibly muttered.

"Why?" she queried pointedly.

Gary flushed and grinned. "Oh, you and your endless questions," he parried. He couldn't bring himself to say, "Because you've always hated me!"

She approached him until she was very close, close enough for any man who did not love her to want to back away. Gary remained inert. "You will permit?" she asked, and drew her arms around his shoulders. He made no effort to break away.

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Really, I love you. I love you like mad. I can't explain everything here and now--"

Hermione interrupted. This was unusual for her. " Gary, I love you too. We were made for each other." She moved her head towards his in an intimate manner. Gary, however, pushed her away.

"What I mean, though, Hermione, is that, I mean, you don't know me well enough yet. What if I suddenly became, well, revolting?"

"Like a werewolf?"

She was puzzled, but intrigued, and she spoke in a dreamy sort of whisper that made his ears tickle. He shook his head, frowning with distaste. Her mentioning werewolves reminded him of Remus. And he wasn't wanting to think about Remus, or James, or Sirius at this moment.

"I wouldn't mind if you were a werewolf, Gary."

Her comment brought him back to his present situation. What was he going to say?

"I'm…not a werewolf." (Come on, get a grip of yourself, he was thinking, furious with himself. Why had he asked her here? This was such a bad idea…)

"Then what is it?"

Again he floundered about. "You…don't really love…I mean, you don't even know anything about the real me. And trust me on this point--you will seriously regret anything that we do now."

Hermione shook her head, a complacent smile on her face. "Nothing," she breathed, "will ever, ever, ever stop me from loving you." She threw her arms around his neck again and their lips got close, almost touching. He pulled away yet again. He couldn't bring himself to let her kiss him when he knew in ten minutes she would probably hate him even more for it. "Stop. You aren't ready for this. I'm not ready for this. I know, Hermione, that you will very much regret this in the future, despite what you say about your undying affection. Hermione, stop playing the fool! Tonight I invited you here only to tell you how I feel for you; that's all. But one kiss, and you may regret it for eternity!"

"Are you a vampire, then?"

"Oh, just STOP with the abnormal syndromes! I'm a perfectly normal, unaffected man with no evil afflictions." Though he spoke with annoyance, his tone was weak, and tears were streaming down his face. He could not contain them. His voice had gotten very tight, and he almost couldn't speak.

"But soon…I will…change, and change a great deal. If I could remain…as I am now…forever, for your sake alone, Hermione, I would. But I can't. I…am…too…" He broke off eloquently, not sure exactly what he was too much of. Hermione looked blankly at him, her eyes welling up too.

"If you are crying for me," she whispered, "it must be bad. Perhaps…" she leaned in closer, "perhaps you are…married?"

Gary shook his head quickly, both relieved and rather surprised that this was the worst she had supposed.

"Oh my goodness, no. I only loved once, and that was but a silly adolescent difficulty. And my sweetheart never returned the favour. And anyways," he added, just for good measure, "I didn't love her as much as I love you."

Hermione was crying freely now, too. She looked at him with sincere compassion and love in her eyes. Snape would remember that moment for the rest of his life as his most cherished memory. She was gorgeous, she was talented, and she loved him. What more could he have desired in that moment? That it was truly him she loved, and not his playacting self. He felt both smitten and glorious in that split second.

After a minute or so (and what a minute!), Hermione looked at him. "Prove to me," she cried, "that I cannot love you after you change. Prove to me that I cannot love you as you really are!"

"That will be easy enough." he murmured. "But are you certain?" It was inevitable, but he wanted to make sure anyhow.

"Yes, now!"

Gary looked deep into her eyes. "I love you madly. Don't forget that. I'll do anything for you. Don't you forget that, either."

Hermione nodded, eyes streaming.

Gary took a deep breath, stuffed his hands in his pockets to help brace himself, then said, in a familiar, tantalizing, deep, and very un-American tenor voice: "Miss Granger? Zero points from Gryffindor."

She was so startled, she spun around. When she saw there was no one there but the two of them, she began to tremble. "This…this is a joke, right?"

"No," replied Snape, "but I sincerely wish it was." He pulled his hands from his pocket and put them to his face to hide the agony crossing it. Suddenly, long black ringlets began to displace the fluffy brown thatches of hair. Gary was turning back into Severus.

"Now this gives new light to the meaning of revolting, does it not?" Snape felt like shouting hysterically. However, he was in such a weakened state from all the anxiety he was under that he couldn't articulate higher than loudly talking. "See? Now you shake; you are shocked you even had your arms around me!" By now, all the effects of the Polyjuice potion had worn off.

"See this? This is Severus Snape, whom you have loathed freely for six years, ever since we first met. But this year, you learned to love my other side. Oddly enough, I didn't know that a side that cared or felt compassionate still existed in me." He couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye; he spoke to only the rock they still stood behind and the cold stone wall of the castle. He continued, "I have been taking the Polyjuice potion since August to keep me in the form of Gary De Rhone, who actually was killed most brutally by the Dark Lord." He suddenly reached out and grabbed Hermione's arm harshly, for she seemed to want to scream, run away, or both.

"And…I…almost…kissed you!" she spat out, fuming.

"See what I meant now!" he agreed, the tears falling down in a flood. "I'm ancient and horrible to behold compared to your beautiful youth."

"Don't you dare call me beautiful, you horrid Death Eater! If that was meant to be a compliment, you instead do me a grave offence, for what is beautiful in your eyes is dreadful in the eyes of the good!" cried Hermione, trying to break away.

Snape held her even harder, and disregarded her last comment.

"You've also hated me for years because I hated your friend."

At the same time, she continued, "You thought you could win me by wearing another's form. Well, I won't pretend I wasn't taken in. But I love you no longer, you may be sure of that!" She paused for breath. "I hated you because you were a killer, too!" she added, "Now let go of me!"

Still oblivious to her cries, Snape continued as though she never interrupted. "But I know I deserved to be hated. Only two people in the universe didn't hate me: my mother and Dumbledore. I do not include myself because I hated myself too. My mother is dead--"

Hermione screamed out, "--AND YOU YOURSELF KILLED DUMBLEDORE!" She kicked him in the stomach with her foot, and he let go of her arm with a gasp for just a split second, but it was enough time to enable her flight. She dashed five feet, but he grabbed her again.

"You should not go around accusing people of being murderers when, in fact, no one has been killed."

Hermione glared at him. "You lie! You want to convince me that you are innocent, that Dumbledore is not dead. Well, it's a bit late for that. I saw his body!"

Snape shook his head. "Yes, that's what happened. Dumbledore isn't dead; in fact he's coming back to Hogwarts tomorrow. That's the only reason he permitted me to reveal my true identity again. Here," he added, digging through his pockets, "I have his last letter still. Read it if you don't believe me." He presented the envelope to her.

Hermione snatched, rather unwillingly, the letter from his hand. After she read the thing quietly for a few moments, she looked up at him with an unsteady glance. Her eyes were welling up again.

"So you see every word I have told you is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, to quote the Muggle justice system."

She nodded, but said nothing. After a few moments, she looked up at him again. She handed him the letter. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean any of the cruel things I said a minute ago." Snape nodded, lips set.

"It was quite understandable under the circumstances."

Hermione stood stock still a moment, and then gained enough courage to look into his eyes. "Thank you for not killing Dumbledore. I'm sorry I ever assumed the worst of you, Professor Snape. You are a noble man, in some ways." And slowly, Hermione walked away.

_

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_Main point: REVIEW PLEASE! _


	17. Chapter 22

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

Chapter 22 

Hermione left Snape and dashed up to the Gryffindor common room. Everyone in the seventh year was waiting, including some sixth year girls (including Ginny), anxious to learn about who her secret admirer was. Hermione rushed in and collapsed on the squashy leather couch.

"Who was it?" asked Ginny breathlessly, wanting to know every detail.

"What house was he from?" asked someone else. And they were upon her, grasping for any detail she would drop.

After a few minutes, she finally gasped out the word, "Snape." There was an abrupt pause. No one could comprehend this at first. Suddenly, there was an outburst.

"Wait a minute, what is Snape doing here?"

"What'd he do to you?"

"That must have been bad!" Many voices chorused, creating an awful din. Then Hermione began to cry.

"He was using the Polyjuice potion to be Gary De Rhone--Professor De Rhone, I mean. The real Gary De Rhone is dead. Killed by you-know-who last summer."

The chorus began again. "You're not telling me that Snape was being NICE all year, are you?"

"Why was he doing that?"

"What'd he do to you?" Hermione shook her head. "He didn't do anything." A shower of protests rained down on her.

Hermione shrugged, then said tartly, "Oh, and guess what else?" "What?" exclaimed several voices in unison. "Dumbledore's not dead. He's coming back tomorrow." And not being able to bear the clamour of their voices any longer, Hermione marched herself off to bed.

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Severus wasn't sure when Hermione had slipped back into the castle, nor how he ended up on the ground, leaning against the rock. He was vaguely aware that he was getting cold, and that it was late. A light snow was falling, blanketing him in its frozen fluffiness. He observed half-heartedly that his skin was so cold to the touch that snowflakes did not melt on contact with it. But he could not bring himself to move or go inside. He felt bitter and wrecked. But why? he wondered. What had he been expecting from her? Absolutely nothing. The tearstains that covered his pale cheeks were turning to ice, but as more drops fell, their warmth melted the ice away. He had half a mind to sit there and never budge again, to let the snow keep falling…falling…falling….and to let himself be covered with it. He wouldn't be found until spring, if it snowed hard enough. And that would suffice for him, just to go to sleep and gradually have all the life sucked out of him, little by little, until he had reached the point of oblivion…

Somewhere above him a window slammed shut against the cold of the evening, but Snape cared not. In fact, he cared not for anything just now. He only wanted to let the snow keep falling…falling…falling…

He remembered, with a sad smile, the chorus of a poem, one of the very few that he had ever penned, written in his teens:

_Let the rain keep falling…falling…falling _

_On a long night of treacherous despair _

_And it won't stop raining…raining…raining _

_'Til I let out the poor locked-up sunshine _

The rest of the poem took up the better part of two pages, and wasn't anything spectacular enough to be worth memorizing, but now he felt that, more than ever before, the words were fitting. As to the line about locked-up sunshine—he would need to find some advantages to his situation in order to let his life go on as usual. But, to do that, he would need to get up and out of the snow, which was not something he was about to do at all.

Boots were crunching towards him. Snape was too cold and too ill in the head to care.

"Severus?" Slughorn approached warily, wand extended the snow-covered clump of brown at the base of the rock. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "It _is_ you!" He waddled towards the rock, pocketing his wand. "I saw you from my window. Brr. It is a cold night, Severus. I hope you're dressed—but oh, dear, what's with all the snow all over you?" He added hastily, but unnecessarily, "It's all right; Minerva explained everything to us all about your drama with Dumbledore; you have been officially forgiven."

"Leave me. Go away," Snape murmured, not moving. His teeth chattered loudly when he opened his mouth, though he tried to contain them, and he shivered. Some of the loose, powdery snow fell off of his shoulders as he shook.

But Slughorn, sensibly, would not leave him. "Come on, Severus. Don't make me carry you, now." He squatted down next to the sick man, putting his hand to Snape's forehead. "Dear, dear, you've got a fever. Come inside, we'll get Madame Pomfrey to fix you up. What are you doing out here, anyhow?"

"Just leave me," sighed Severus again. His breath, when he exhaled and spoke, became mist, and froze on his nose and upper lip. Slughorn, though, knew an ill man when he saw one.

"No I won't," he protested, and he mustered up quite a bit of strength in order to drag Severus, as well as he could, into the castle.

The sudden warmth of indoors so greatly overpowered Severus that he nearly fainted in Slughorn's manipulative grasp. "Come on now, just up the stairs and we'll be in your room," Slughorn assured him, though Severus little wanted to be reassured. He was too weak and numb with the cold having settled into his bones, however, to protest. They made it to his room, where Severus collapsed in convulsive, perpetual shivering on the bed. Slughorn helped him off with his boots, like he might do to a little child, wrapped a comforter around him, placed him in a chair by the fire, and prepared a hot mug of something strong, probably firewhiskey, which he practically forced Severus to drink. Finally, Snape was able to feel his toes again, and he stopped shaking. Slughorn was now, he noted duly, partaking in what was left of whatever was left of the firewhiskey.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Slughorn asked softly after a long silence between them.

"There is nothing to talk about," answered Snape less coldly than he felt.

"Ah. Well, you should be more careful, Severus," went on Slughorn, "You might have gotten off worse." Noticing the distant look in the other's eye, he added, "Or perhaps that was the point?" Receiving not a nod or a wink from Severus, he sighed again and rose. "That's all right, m' boy," he said. "We've all been through times like that. But we need you too much for you to take your uncalled-for leave of us yet. So don't do it again, you hear me?"

Severus nodded glumly, staring into the flames.

Slughorn looked at him, then added, "What happened tonight stays at tonight. Well, goodnight Severus." And Slughorn left.

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Hermione's musings

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	18. Chapter 24

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

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_Chapter 23 _

_Dumbledore's back!_

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_Dumbledore and Harry and Snape_

_-------------------------------------_

_Wedding of Maxime and Hagrid_

_Chapter 24_

…The next morning, a most peculiar notice was posted in the corkboard in the common room. It read as follows:

Can you play an instrument? Can you sing? Do you have any musical talent whatsoever? Do you know not the first thing about music but want to learn? If so, you may qualify for the new Hogwarts Muggle Orchestra, concertmaster Cherry Peterson. We are desperate for new members, so if you are interested in feeling the excitement of being on stage or the triumph of mastery, please sign here. Participants receive extra credit for Professor Brogelman's Muggle Studies class. FOR OTHER INFO SEE CHERRY OR LIA PETERSON.

"What's this?" asked Ron, coming up behind Harry and Hermione. He held a blue flyer almost exactly like that posted on the board, only without signing lines and with a note to find the sign-up sheet in the common room.

"An orchestra" mused Hermione. "I wonder who'll be directing it."

"Cherry, of course!" declared Ron. "It says so right there!"

"Actually," corrected Lavender brown, who approached them knowledgably, "A CONCERTMASTER is basically the head musician, The DIRECTOR obviously directs."

Ron frowned. "How come YOU know so much about this?"

Lavender shrugged nonchalantly, but threw a hurt glance at Ron. "I was in one in elementary school."

"Oh," remarked Harry, "So are you trying out?"

"I guess," replied Lavender. "I liked it pretty well, I guess." She moseyed away gently.

Hermione looked at Harry. "I think I will too. I took piano and clarinet when I was little."

Ron grinned suddenly. "I want to play the brugalphone!" he declared, and began marching up and down with an imaginary instrument.

"You mean a trombone," corrected Hermione, watching him uninterestedly.

"Yeah, sure, that thing."

Hermione turned to Harry. "You going to try out, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe, if this doesn't conflict with Quidditch."

At this, Ron stopped marching abruptly and spun around. "Oh no!" he exclaimed, "I forgot about that!"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't think we would meet more than twice a week at the most for the orchestra. I think it's doable."

"What the heck! May as well try and get in," Ron said, whipping a quill from his pocket and writing his name under that of Elizabeth Montpelier. Hermione signed next, as did Harry. They even persuaded Ginny to put her name down. So, with anticipation, they waited for further news of it.

The next day, in passing period, Cherry shyly, as she swept past, thrust some envelopes into Hermione's hand. Hermione almost didn't realize where she had gotten them from, Cherry was so quick. At any rate, one envelope was marked "H. Potter," one "R. Weasley," and one "Hermione," so they quickly opened them up right then and there. Basically, but in many more words, they all invited the recipients to come to the auditions that day at lunch in the gardens, and to bring their talents if they had any. Since nothing ever happened at lunch, it was a good plan that no one would be able to come up with excuses for. So, that day, after quickly eating, the trio trooped into the garden to find the auditioner.

A table and chair had been set up under the giant oak. Cherry sat, small and diminutive, chewing the end of her quill, nervously appraising the auditionees. Many were there to try out, apparently, at least a hundred students. Soon, Cherry called up the first person, a stout Hufflepuff third year by the name of Randolph Lemon. He had no instrument with him, but he seemed sufficiently satisfied when he left the desk. The next to go up was Slytherin Cassie Nord, who went back to her group looking pleased, blue eyes shining happily. A girl named Bianca Davenport, from Ravenclaw, went up next. And so it went, person after person at a remarkably quick rate. Pretty soon, it was Harry's turn. It felt odd being examined by his contemporary. He sat down in the seat, still warm from the previous occupant.

"Well, Potter, do you have any experience with music?" asked Cherry, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

"No."

"Ok then." She flipped through her notes. "You won't have much time to practice if you do join the orchestra, right? Since you're the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and all."

"Right." (Harry was rather startled at this; he hadn't thought about the fact that he would actually have to practice.)

"You have any idea what you want to play?"

"Nope. I don't much care."

Cherry looked him in the eye. "No one's putting you up to this, right? You're doing this of your own volition?"

It took Harry a second to think what 'volition' meant, but then he shook his head hard. "No, I signed up because I wanted to."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" He was getting a bit annoyed with this.

Cherry scribbled on her papers. "Could you play percussion?"

"You mean drums and stuff?" Harry wondered how hard that could be; it's beating a stick on plastic or wood or something. So, he replied, "Yeah, I could do that."

Cherry scratched out something with her quill and wrote some more. "Great. Cool." From almost nowhere she produced a snare and two pairs of sticks.

"Repeat after me," she said, and banged on the table with the sticks. Da da-daluh da-daluh dah dah dah dah dah dah dah dah Da da-daluh da-daluh dah dah dah dah dah dah dah dah went her sticks. Harry watched her, then repeated the motion perfectly. Cherry demonstrated another rhythm. Da da DA da, da da DA, da da DA da. Again Harry repeated the pattern perfectly. "Ok, great. Thanks." She put away the drum and sticks. "Grant Bates, up here please." She called to a third year Hufflepuff hovering nearby. Taking this as a dismissal, Harry silently got up and rejoined Hermione and Ron.

"I'm pretty sure I did ok" he observed to them.

A little while later, Hermione went up, and came back smiling. Just ten minutes later, Ron went too. By the end of lunch, everyone in the garden had gone, and Cherry was finishing with the last auditions. Then, just as the bell rang, she gathered up her notes and went to her classes.

The next morning, a list of successful auditionees was posted in the common room. It ran as follows:

Flute: Elizabeth Montpelier (G) Lea Clockenburger (H) Rachel Vanise (S) Danielle Norbert (R) Sarah Afleura (H)

Clarinet: Réna Gomez (R) Hermione Granger (G) Morinda Porpington (G) Ariana Mann (S) Greg Santiago (R)

Oboe: Cherry Peterson (G)

Bassoon: Sandra Miller (H) Bianca Davenport (R)

Bass Clarinet: Andrew Thompson (S) Dana Windiford (H)

Bari. Sax: Trenton Oxford (H) Mark Vane (S)

Alto Sax: Patty Owen (R) Ophelia Young (R) Max Verall (H) Joseph Lane (G)

Tenor Sax: Kristin Spade (G) Diane Race (S)

Trumpet: David Autumnrook (G) Kyle Wolf (R) Taylor Jenkins (H) Terry Boot (R) Evan Holmes (G) Alex St. Mary (R) Aaron Quinn (R)

Horn: Mabel Vincent (S) Ginny Weasley (G)

Baritone: Paul Marks (S)

Trombone: Ronald Weasley (G) Wilkes O'Reilly (R) Jake McQueen (R)

Tuba: Cassie Nord (S) Bryanaa Lux (H)

Percussion: Jake Porter (G) Noel Goodfellow (S) Harry Potter (G) Heather Dwyer (H) Julian Moon (G)

Violin: Lia Peterson (G) Lavender Brown (G) Alexandra Maher (H) Lilliane Murphy (R) Ava Simpson (R)

Viola: Olga Ratcliff (S) Timothy Kimball (H) Frieda Garnet (H)

Cello: Grant Bates (H) Mona Perrot (R) Raven Coxcomb (R)

Bass: Melissa Anthony (G) Peter Quince (S)

Alto Clarinet: Randolph Lemon (H)

"Hey!" exclaimed Ron, "All three of us made it!"

"All FOUR" corrected Ginny, looking over their shoulders. "I guess the horn isn't too bad."

"I'll have to get some books on your new instruments," announced Hermione. Everyone groaned.

"Must we actually read them?" asked Ron. Hermione nodded.

"Yes, and just to make sure you do, I'll give you a test at the end of each."

"Ugh!" moaned Ron again, and Ginny laughed.

"Oh, shut up Ron!" she smiled, and left them to join Michele Montessori and Elizabeth Montpelier in another corner.

-------------------------------------

Snape dismissed his class just as the lunch bell rang. While Harry hurried with the rest of the class in putting their supplies on the shelves and in their bags, he accidentally knocked over a jar of tiny, sticky blackfoot plant seeds all over the floor. Harry silently cursed and bent down to pick up every singe one off the floor. Snape, when all the other students had left, not noticing Harry, swept across the room to his office door.

"Professor?" A quiet voice came across the room from the door leading into the hallway. Harry glanced behind him at Cherry Peterson. He hurriedly tried to pick up the sticky, prickly seeds faster.

Snape paused in the task of locking his office door.

"What is it, Miss Peterson?" There was a touch of annoyance in his voice. He stepped over to his desk and began to rearrange the papers on it, to give him an appearance of being occupied.

"Professor Dumbledore told me to ask you this." Cherry advanced towards the desk.

"Mhm. Go on."

"Well, sir, he told me that…well, that once you played the cello."

"Mhm." (It was amazing how much one could convey without opening his mouth, Harry remarked in his thoughts.) "And what of it?"

"Well, he also told me you once played the piano, and the tenor saxophone, too."

Snape sat down in the hard-backed chair behind his desk. "I do not see the point of this rigmarole, Miss Peterson. If you have no matter of importance, then I suggest that you leave immediately, as I have much work to do over the course of the hour."

Cherry did not stir. "Did you or didn't you?" she asked persistently.

Snape looked up from his work. "As a matter of fact, I did," he said, "but, as I said before, what does it matter?"

"I was wondering if, perhaps, you would…you would…" Cherry was at a loss for words.

"I would what?"

It came out in a rush. "I was wondering if you would direct…no, I mean, would you possibly mind considering directing the orchestra I set up?"

Snape took a moment to digest this. "Oh really? An orchestra at Hogwarts? Well, well, this is new." He seemed amused.

"Yes sir, if you would consider it. If you don't know how to go about it, I can help you."

Snape's eyes had a glint of humour in them. "And why don't you direct it yourself, if you know how?"

Cherry replied pointedly, "The orchestra would have no oboe player."

Snape didn't even pause to reflect. "Well, Miss Peterson, for one thing, I am much too busy to bother with managing a club. Secondly, and most importantly, your orchestra is going to very likely fail and everyone resign if I came to direct it."

At this, Cherry sighed. "I suppose, then, that I shall have to play my trump card."

"You play bridge?"

"Actually, I know not the first thing about it. Except for the fact that Agatha Christie based one of her Poirot books, Cards on the Table, on the game."

"Oh, so you like Agatha Christie?"

"Yeah. I love Agatha Christie; I've, like, read all of her books over and over. But anyhow, I was just referring to—hey, are you certain you won't reconsider?"

"There is no possibility, Miss Peterson."

"All right then…but I really don't want to have to do this sir, please?"

"No."

"Fine then," Cherry said sarcastically. "Then listen to this!" At that second, Cherry drew something from the pocket of her robes and smacked it down on the table. Harry couldn't see what it was, but, suddenly, he heard a recording of what must have been Hermione's voice.

"Why?"

"Oh, you and your endless questions," (this was the voice of Gary De Rhone)

"You will permit?" (Hermione again. A long pause)

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Really, I love you. I love you like mad. I can't explain everything here and now--"

" Gary, I love you too. We were made for each other." (pause)

"What I mean, though, Hermione, is that, I mean, you don't know me well enough yet. What if I suddenly became, well, revolting?"

"Like a werewolf?"(pause) "I wouldn't mind if you were a werewolf, Gary."

"I'm…not a werewolf."

"Then what is it?"

"You…don't really love…I mean, you don't even know anything about the real me. And trust me on this point, you will seriously regret anything that we do now." (pause)

"Nothing will ever, ever, ever stop me from loving you." (a long pause)

Harry looked at Snape from under the desk. The professor's lower lip was trembling, and, for the first time, there was a glint of fear in his dark eyes. With a shaking hand he gently turned off the machine emitting the dialogue.

"Where…where did you get that?" he asked, truly startled.

Cherry stared at him. "I was recording myself on the oboe when I heard voices coming from below my window. I stopped playing and listened in. In the meantime, I forgot to stop the recorder, so every word from there to when Hermione left is on here." She tapped the recorder.

"I assume that this is blackmail?" Snape asked of Cherry.

"In a way, it is."

Snape shook his head. "I ought to strangle you, you know, for eavesdropping on such a private conversation."

"If it was so private, it would have been a lot smarter to take it somewhere that was not below an open window. I made no secret of my existence. If either of you had bothered to look up, you would have seen me, obvious as could be" retorted Cherry.

"Well, what do you want then?" asked Snape angrily. "Money? I have almost none. I can give you what I can, which I normally place in a retirement fund for myself. That is ample, I should think, and--" Cherry interrupted.

"I don't want money! Only as a small compensation for my abstinence of flaunting this recording about, along with its humiliating contents, I want you to direct my orchestra. (And, perhaps a little more consideration in regards to my grade.) Please." She her eyes held a look like that of a puppy who has been refused a walk.

Snape smiled sickly. "You're too cruel. All right, I'll do it."

"Thank you!" Cherry exclaimed happily. She skittered out the door into the hallway, and Harry heard her practically skipping away. Snape, still visibly disturbed from the trauma, got up to slam the door after her. As he turned around, he noticed Harry still picking up the blackfoot seeds.

"POTTER!!!!" he roared. "What are you doing?"

"Picking up spilled blackfoot seeds" Harry said defiantly, sticking his chin up.

"Get out of here!!!!"

"Sor-ry. Let me just finish--"

"NOW, POTTER!!! I'll clean up the cursed seeds!! Leave before I throttle your neck!!!"

"Sheesh! Ok, ok, I'm leaving!" With that, Harry thumped the jar of seeds on the table, purposefully banging it hard enough to make more of the seeds fly out of it onto the floor, and grabbed his stuff. He was glad Snape was too rattled to take points from Gryffindor (or worse, fire a hex or memory-modifying charm on him) as he dashed out the door. Snape slammed it furiously behind him, but the dramatic effect was spoiled by the train of his robe getting caught in the doorjamb. He yanked the door open again, cursed heartily some more, and slammed the door hard for the second time. The whole episode would have been humorous to watch as a non-participant, and even Harry was sorely tempted to laugh. Just curious to see what Snape would do next, Harry stooped to look through the keyhole. Snape collapsed into a brown study for a few minutes against the wall, looking as though he were counting ten mentally, then strode over to Harry's desk to begin to angrily pick up the spilled seeds considerably faster than Harry had done.

With that, Harry got up again and hurried down the hall to the Great Hall. He had to find Hermione, to tell her that he finally knew the truth of the mysterious lover from January, and that it was all OK by him.

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"Hermione, I would have thought that you had more sense than that!" Ron was shocked at the recent revelations. "You…almost…KISSED HIM?? That's unbelievable!"

They were in the otherwise empty seventh year boys' dormitory. Hermione nodded, tears streaking her face. She was sitting on the bed next to Harry, who had his hand on her shoulder. Ron paced the room, agitated by the news.

"I knew you fancied De Rhone but this…ugh." Ron leant heavily on the bedpost. "I thought you were smarter than that," he repeated bewilderedly. He sat for a moment, lost in thought. Suddenly, he began to rant angrily. "All right then, Hermione. So you liked him."

Tearfully, Hermione answered. "Yes I did, but--" Ron interrupted her in the midst of her sentence.

"Huh. And you still would like him now, if he hadn't been Snape the whole time. Doubtless." Harry could see Ron was hurt, extremely hurt. Fire burned in his friend's eyes, brighter than his red hair. His words, though heartfelt, were beginning to get a bit mixed up, and he was spluttering. "Well. I really don't know what your little game was, Hermione. I mean, I thought that, just by common understanding, not by anything you said or did, you cared for me more than just as a friend. True, we've been friends a long time. But ever since I first saw you, I hated you, and that hate very fast turned to friendship, and that friendship very fast turned to love. I still remember the day I realized that I was no longer just a friend, and not even just a good friend, that I was in love with you."

("When was this?" put in Harry sceptically, slightly surprised at this outburst, but Ron ploughed on over him.)

"Since then," pursued Ron, "it was always that you came in the form of an angel in my dreams, and I always knew for a long time that it was you that I was going to marry when I left Hogwarts. I couldn't, not for one minute, imagine an hour without you, much less a day. And somehow, I had the vague idea that you had a similar, if not half as passionate a liking, for me. I stuck to you through all of your silly girlish crushes, Lockheart, Viktor Krum, Cormac McLaggen, even Harry once (yes, Harry, she never told you—for almost four months she liked you a lot, I think it was our third year) and now Gary De Rhone. But never once did you like me, who absolutely adored you the entire time. And yet, always, whenever you needed to steam, whenever you needed to talk, whenever you just needed a guy to listen to you, you came to me, and that's been for a long time. I never told anyone about anything you ever said to me, about anything you asked me to keep secret." Here he hesitated a moment in his tirade, looking at her pointedly. He continued abruptly. "Yeah, well, as I was saying, the entire time we've known each other, you've both rejected me and encouraged me, both only cared for me as a friend one second then turned upon me with the eyes of a lifelong companion the next. Yet I've been standing here the whole time, wanting you, loving you, the only time changing my course for a moment to get you jealous, unsuccessfully, with Lavender Brown. I was hoping perhaps sometime you would look into your little faithful dog's face and see something good in it. And sometimes, Hermione, you would appear to do that, and act towards me differently than towards your other best companion, Harry. And there I saw, occasionally, a slight shining sunbeam of hope. But I'm thinking now that subtle advances are not enough anymore; you have to look into the guy's face and hear the words from his own foul lips before you can understand how he feels for you. So you see Hermione, I'm finally pushing my proposal into the open: I love you and I want to know if you love me. So what is it? Yes or no?" Ron collapsed in a cross-legged heap on the floor after this astonishing spurt of intelligent monologue, his eyes shiny with emotion, looking dearly into Hermione's open-mouthed countenance. The fire in his eyes had died just as suddenly as it had sprung, as though doused with icy coldness. Hermione had now ceased to cry, and she stared at Ron as though he had died and come alive again.

"Ron," she breathed, her voice wavering dangerously. "Oh, God, Ron," she said again, slipping off the bed onto the floor beside him. And then she attacked, suddenly, throwing her arms impulsively around his neck and moving easily closer for an...ahem, I believe that you get the point. Anyhow, they were engaged, for what seemed to Harry (as he averted his eyes respectfully) a matter of minutes.

Finally, their lips drew apart from each other and Harry deemed it safe to look again as Ron murmured, "I take that is a yes?"

"Oh yes, Ron, yes for ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever!!!" Hermione cried. They kissed again, and Harry got up and gently slipped out the door this time. He went off to find Ginny, to spread the news. Goodness, today it seemed that he was certainly responsible for a lot!_

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	19. Chapter 25

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

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Chapter 25? 

Everyone gathered in the empty Charms classroom after hurriedly eating dinner, excited for the orchestra rehearsal. Upon their arrival, though, neither the Petersons, nor the instruments, nor even the unknown mysterious director were there. In fact, nothing about the Charms room was different from when it was used for classes during the day, except for the fact that all the desks were lined up on the wall. Also, a large number of chairs and rather rickety but ornate wooden music stands had been brought in, one for each person, not to mention a podium for the director. Upon this was a large, thick leather-bound book labelled "Music Catalogue." The chairs were arranged in four or five rows in a half-circle formation around the podium. People uneasily settled down into the chairs, talking and laughing among each other while, at the same time, nervously casting glances periodically at the door. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat close to the back of the room, where they talked in low voices about Voldemort's hororuxes.

"Well, so we've got only three left, now," muttered Harry. "One remains in Voldemort, one in possibly Helga's cup, and one in something else we don't know about yet."

"I highly doubt it will be anything of Gryffindor's" agreed Hermione vaguely. "I don't think either that he would have chosen anything else's of Hufflepuff, either, even if he could find it. I'd place a higher bet on something of Ravenclaw's. What do you think, Ron…er, Ron?"

For Ron was asleep against her shoulder. At the sound of his name, though, he sat upright with a jolt. "Huh? What?"

"Ron, you really do need to start paying more attention to things" Hermione chastised. As she said this, though, the door to the classroom opened meekly, and the Petersons hurried in. Trailing behind them, leviated in the air, were various instruments, large and small, everything from a tiny flute to a gigantic tuba. Everyone in the room stopped talking and looked towards them. Cherry Peterson met the occasion with a splash of tragic comedy by tripping over a crack in the floor and falling flat on her face. She stood up again, blushing furiously but laughing as well as she could.

"Oh my gosh, are you ok?" asked her sister concernedly.

"Ja, ja, I'm fine," muttered Cherry. (Here Ron poked Harry, asking him what 'ja' was. Hermione supplemented them with the fact that 'ja' is German for 'yes'.) "All right," Cherry continued as she nervously tucked her wand under her arm and yanked her ponytail holder from her hair. "Well, first, I guess, welcome to the Hogwarts Orchestra. As most of you know, I am Cherry Peterson, and this is my sister Lia."

"Hello," waved Lia smilingly.

"We've got exactly…" (Cherry glanced at the clock, which read 7:50) "…Ten minutes before our director gets here. So let me give you all your instruments, and assign your seats." At this, she began to rummage through the papers on the podium. Soon, she seemed to find what she wanted, and raised it up enough to read it. She gestured to the first row. "There are, I believe, seven chairs in the first row." She counted then quickly. "May I have…" she began again, but everyone had ceased to pay attention, and had begun to talk. "Um, excuse me?" Cherry tried in vain to get their attention. She tapped the podium with her wand nervously. "Come on, people, please, let's try and get this done."

"Hey! Shut up!" yelled Lia's friend Jake Porter from somewhere in the middle of the room. At this, everyone suddenly stopped talking.

"Thank you," went on Cherry. "Now let's do this in a highly efficient manner, and no one will be the worse for it. All right? So here, now, everyone get up and line up against the wall, any wall will do."

There was a shuffling of chairs and a scraping of shoes as the sixty-some-odd people rose and lined up.

Since Harry and Ron and Hermione were already in the back of the room, all they had to do was get up and move backwards a bit. "All right then," said Cherry after the confusion died down. "So, for the first row, we have in the first chair to my right, Elizabeth Montpelier, and Laria Clockenburger, flutes. Get your instruments and sit down." After the two had received their instruments and sat down, Cherry continued, "Ok, now for the clarinets. Our new companion Réna Gomez and Hermione Granger, please get your instruments and sit down." They did so, Réna sitting next to Laria and Hermione immediately after.

"Oh, wait, could you move over one chair? There's supposed to be an empty one between the flutes and clarinets" directed Cherry. Obediently, the clarinets moved over and Cherry resumed her recital. "Next we have the violins Lavender Brown and Lia Peterson. Please sit down." Then she went on to count the second row. "We should have…yes, we have nine chairs in the second row. Flutes Rachel Vanise, Danielle Norbert, and Sarah Afleura, please get your instruments and be seated. Clarinets Miranda Porpington, Ariana Mann, and Greg Santiago, please retrieve your instruments and sit down. And violins Ava Simpson, Lilliane Murphy, and Alexandra Maher, do the same." As they picked up their instruments, she chastised Ava as she picked up a viola instead of a violin. "No, no, Ava, that's a viola, not a violin. The violins are the smaller ones." As soon as they sat down, she went on to the third row. "There are…ok, yeah, there are twelve in this row and the next. Alto Saxes get your instruments and sit down in the order I say: Patty Owen, Ophelia Young, Max Verall, and Joseph Lane. Now for the bassoons: Sandra Miller and Bianca Davenport. Get your instruments and sit. Ok, bass clarinets: Andrew Thompson and Dana Windiford. Now the violas: Frieda Garnet, Timothy Kimball, and Olga Ratcliff." She paused. "Next row: Tenor saxes Kristin Spade and Diane Race. Then we have the bari. saxes, Trenton Oxford and Mark Vane. Then the horns, Mabel Vincent and Ginny Weasley. Then we have the celli-- Raven CoxcombMona Perrot, and Grant Bates. Next, the tubas; Bryanna Lux and Cassie Nord. Last for this row, we have Paul Marks on baritone." She took a deep breath and began to talk faster. "Ok, so now we have the fourth row. No, wait, that would be the fifth row. Ok, well, never mind. Anyhow, we have the trombones Ronald Weasley, Wilkes O'Reilly, and Jake McQueen. The rest of the row is trumpets, with David Autumnrook, Kyle Wolf, Taylor Jenkins, Terry Boot, Evan Holmes, Alex St. Mary, and Aaron Quinn. The last row consists of percussion: Jake Porter, Noel Goodfellow, Harry Potter, Heather Dwyer, and Julian Moon. Last, but not least, we have the bass players Melissa Anthony and Peter Quince." Cherry took a deep breath and surveyed them all as they hurried to their seats with their shiny new instruments. "I'd like to remind you all to be respectful to your instruments, and cherish them. When and if you leave this year, do remember to give them to your heads of houses beforehand." She glanced at the clock. It read 7:59 and thirty-seven seconds. "Our director will be here any minute. Until then, please remain in your seats and you are free to talk. Thank you." With that, Cherry sat down in the vacant place in the front row with her oboe in hand. 

People, as she had suggested, began to chat with each other timidly. However, no sooner did they become adjusted to their surroundings then at precisely eight o'clock the classroom doors banged open dramatically. Snape strode in, glaring ferociously, a thick black folder under his arm and looking for all the world as though he wanted to slay each and every one of them. Everyone immediately shut their mouths and turned their attention to him. Surprisingly, though, instead of shooting questions around the room about what they were doing and who was in charge and so on, stomped up to the podium, threw down the folder from his arms, and looked at the assembly. He was quick to pick out Harry and Ron in the back, though he didn't at first notice Hermione because she was right under his nose. Hermione stared at him unblinkingly, though, and his attention latched on that. At first it looked like the entire rehearsal would be a staring contest between Hermione and Snape, but Snape won eventually, and he glared vehemently at Cherry, who had placed him in this very awkward position. He was being forced to work within two feet of the girl he loved, but who hated him. Cherry flushed and looked at her feet apologetically. She could say nothing.

All at once, Snape began to introduce himself, as if an introduction was needed!

"Congratulations," he began loftily, "You've all been accepted into the Hogwarts Orchestra. Let me introduce myself—most of you, I believe, know me from either Potions or Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. Or both, for that matter." He paused. "If you have met me previous to this, though, I will ask that you forget everything you thought you knew about me while you remain in this rehearsal. As far as the art of music is concerned, you will learn to be good or get the boot by tomorrow morning." Whoops, Snape realized, that was an American phrase. Oh well, it was all part of the transitioning…

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	20. Chapter 26

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

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Chapter something much later, about May……………………….Snape's attempted suicide 

…Severus looked at the sharp shaving razor in his hand. It was such a small object, such a minute edge, almost as thin as paper. The thought that it was powerful enough to kill a man was overwhelming to him. He drew his eyes away from it. It was now or never. He closed his eyes, and, with a quick flick, he inflicted a small scratch on his right wrist. It stung only a little; that gave him a bit more hope. This death would not take very long, and would be almost painless when compared to the crutacious curse that Voldemort could use on him. He drew the blade across his right wrist again, cutting down deeply, to the vein. The pain was like nothing Severus had ever experienced before, but then, he consoled himself that it would all be over soon. The blood flowed freely. Restraining the urge to grasp at his arm and cut off the circulation to ease the sting, Snape repeated the action more vehemently, again and again until his right arm was covered in the deep cuts. Severus seemed to feel the blood trickling from his arm, like red tears. All the pain built up inside him seemed to be flowing out with it. He clenched his eyes together again and severed his skin on the opposite wrist. The agony was nearly unbearable, but Severus Snape began to laugh like a maniac. He was going to die, yes, die, and put an end to his horrible life once and for all. His memories seemed to swim before his eyes, visions of Dumbledore, McGonagall, his mother, Voldemort, his sister, Draco, Lucius, Narcissa, Hermione, Potter, and many other people flew to the front of his mind. He laughed most loudly when he saw Harry Potter's vacant expression gaping at him. Oh, how surprised both Harry and James Potter would be, not to mention Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, and everyone else who had hated him in school, to see him cutting his wrists in an attempt at suicide! Everything that passed through his mind gave him more confidence and delight; even the thought that no one would miss him when he was gone made him feel more thrilled than ever. He felt better than he had for weeks, and then, delirious and drunk with joy, he passed out on the couch.

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Eileen Snape shivered under her thick shawl as a late spring rainstorm poured around her that evening. She stood in the mouth of a shallow cave, cold, lost, and afraid. At least, though, she wasn't bored, for she had with her a waterproof bag full of books, and she wasn't hungry, for she had a vast quantity of pickled ham along with her! But even as she held the clammy pale pink-green pork in her hand, she realized how it had lost its once tangy, sour flavour to be replaced by a bitter dampness that was only begot by its being soaked. She drew out her wand hesitantly and set a small pile of semi-dry twigs and leaves ablaze. It was a small fire, all red and gold and yellow, but it sufficed. With a sigh, she speared the ham on a drenched stick and held it to the flame to warm it.

The ham began to sizzle and toast, casting its warm, fatty, sour scent into the air. Mrs. Snape deemed it ready to eat finally, and began to carefully remove it from the stick. In a moment she was ripping off a tender, steaming piece of the flesh and chewing it with surprising delicacy. In the midst of eating it, though, a sudden shadow passed over her, with no apparent cause. And then the flame of her fire turned very entirely blue. Startled, she jumped up as easily as she could with her rheumatism, and looked about her. The shadow was gone, and the fire was fading blue to gold, then gold to green. Eileen began to tremble with more than the cold. This was, she knew, an Omen of Death, or, in other words, a sign sent from someone she cared very deeply about who was nearly at death's door, in horrible peril. Her focus shifted quickly from her dinner to her son. Terrified, she quickly scooped up her bags and disapparated to Hogsmede, as close to Hogwarts that she could get.

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Harry ran down the hall of the teacher's dorms. He must find McGonagall, he must! It was only now that he had an idea of where the last horocrux was; why hadn't he realized it before! When he reached her door, he pounded fiercely on it. She did not answer. He tried to force it open, but to no avail. Even "alohomora" did not work. Harry turned on his heel; perhaps she was somewhere else. He suddenly noticed that Snape's door was ajar. As he looked, a faint groan emitted from the room. Curious, Harry poked his head in.

The carpet was soaked in red blood.

"Professor Snape?" queried Harry, becoming very surprised. No one answered. Cautiously, Harry stepped in. His eyes were never so shocked--Snape lay limply on the couch, his wrists cut with true passion and anger. A razor blade lay on the floor, just dropped from his outstretched hand. A queer smile was played across his face, as though he had just gone to sleep after the perfect day. It was a horrible thing to see. At first, Harry thought it was some sort of trick. He drew his wand and approached the figure on the couch. After a few pokes, Harry was satisfied that Snape was dead, or, at any rate, almost dead. He was baffled.

"But why?" he asked himself. He was feeling in no great hurry to bring help for the dying man. He walked carefully around the room, examining the trinkets and bric-a-brac with great interest, not sure exactly what to do with Snape. Take him to Dumbledore? The hospital wing? Or just leave him as he was, leave, and pretend that Harry had not gone in the room at all? Harry continued to think, but his contemplations were getting him nowhere. His brain was going rather fuzzy. He couldn't tell what he was thinking really anymore, and felt that he was very confuzzled indeed. Harry eased himself down on the bed to clear his mind. With a jolt, he remembered who slept there, and stood up with a grimace, wiping the Snape germs off his robes. Suddenly, as he did so, a gasp erupted from the doorway.

"Oh my GOD!! Potter, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!!" Harry spun around. Cherry stood, petrified, in the doorjamb. Her mouth was open in aghast, her eyes darted from the body to Harry, and from Harry to the body. They were opened wide ablaze with horror, and her red hair streamed behind her. In the flickering light of the candles on the table, it looked like her head was on fire.

"I didn't do anything" replied Harry coolly.

Cherry shook her head and glared. Her eyes were now full of complete loathing for Harry, and they were welling up with tears. With a gasp, she sank hard onto the floor by the couch. When she looked up at Harry again, her face was distorted with grief, and tears streamed down her face. Harry had known that Cherry fancied Snape, but this was too much. Surely she was not grieving his demise as though she had lost her best friend? Any person who could do that, in Harry's opinion, was most certainly very wrong in the head.

With relentlessness chilling her features, and tearstains streaking her cheeks, Cherry began to examine the body. Her doing so gave Harry the impression that he was watching a Sherlock Holmes film; she went about it so methodically and tediously, like a detective examining the scene of the crime. She held Snape's hand in her own, and examined the piteously self-inflicted wounds all along the length of the arm. She carefully wrapped up the razor on the ground with a handkerchief and placed it gently on a table. She even snipped a sample of the bloody carpet with a small pair of pocket scissors, and placed it for safe-keeping in a plastic bag in her pocket. It seemed that she had not missed a single detail. Suddenly, though, in the midst of her investigations, Snape gave a little moan, and his head moved. At this, Cherry put her ear to Snape's chest, listened a moment, then shrieked shrilly.

"He's still alive, his heart's beating!"

Harry saw Snape's eyes flicker open at this point for just a moment, meet Cherry's full ones in a thankful glance, and droop closed again. This glance seemed to revive her poise, and she stood up, taking on a matter-of-fact air.

"We need to take him to Madame Pomfrey." She sighed with relief as she brought out her wand. Soon she had levitated him, and was beckoning to Harry to accompany her.

"Come with me," she demanded, "And we can talk on the way there." Seeming to have no alternative, Harry followed after her.

As they walked down the hallway, Harry began to again protest his innocence.

"I didn't try to kill him; I found him like that" he declared stubbornly. Cherry shook her head knowledgeably.

"Of course you didn't." Harry was surprised at this comment. He thought he hadn't heard quite correctly, and looked at her. No longer were her eyes filled with detestation for him; in detestation's place was hope and determination.

"What did you say?' asked Harry of Cherry.

"I said, of course you didn't try to kill Professor Snape!" she repeated.

"But a moment ago, you _were_ blaming me!" retorted Harry confusedly.

"I know I was, but circumstances have changed now."

"What?" He couldn't hear what she said.

"I said," Cherry said louder, "That I know that you didn't kill him."

Her pace quickened. Harry hurried up himself. He was beginning to fear that he would be left behind by her, and she was a whole foot and a half shorter than him!

"But why did you suddenly change your mind about me being a killer, or a near-killer, at that?"

"I observed that the wounds on the Professor's left arm were worse than those on the right thus proving that Professor Snape had used his right hand to inflict the cuts on his left arm, and his left hand to inflect the cuts on his right arm. If someone else had cut him instead, the cuts would not be of varying depths, for the killer would be using their right or left hand both times."

"You're quite the detective," mused Harry, impressed.

"Thank you; you flatter me." replied Cherry unsmilingly. "I love detective novels, in fact I have always considered myself a true mystery addict." 

"Wonderful" replied Harry. This girl seemed to always choose the queerest words! However, Cherry did not seem to catch the sarcasm in his remark.

"Yes, isn't it?" She sighed.

They raced, as quickly as they could without unduly jostling Snape, into the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was asleep, and it took some doing to awaken her. Rio Lipton and Cassie Nord, both restricted to bed-rest since the previous night's events, were there in the wing, and were awoken by Cherry and Harry's efforts to rouse Madame Pomfrey. When they saw their head of house in such a state, both were supremely shocked. Madame Pomfrey, after she finally woke up, raced out of her room in a scarlet kimono and quickly lay Snape in the bed closest to her office, reserved for her most critical cases. She revived him with smelling-salts, and forced down his throat a glutinous substance supposed to slow the bleeding, a potion to help his body make new blood cells, and something stirred into a glass of milk to make him sleep. Finally, she declared that he would be 'all right,' and hurried off to get Dumbledore.

Cherry would not move from the chair beside Snape's bed. She was now crying to herself softly, her false front of self-assurance stricken down. Harry couldn't tell what she was crying about; of course this had been a great shock, but _he_ wasn't crying. And possibly he had undergone a greater shock than she, since he had known (and hated) Snape longer that she had, and also he was the first to find the body. What was the matter with her? She surely didn't like him _that _much, did she?

Snape looked weak and bewildered. All his fanatical joy of an hour before was gone; his head was throbbing, and his every body part felt as though it was made of lead. He felt like he was never again going to be able to move. He was greatly perturbed by Cherry crying in the chair, and showed the fact plainly on his countenance.

"Stop crying," he whispered hoarsely to her, not being able to speak any louder. "It annoys me."

At this, Cherry stopped gasping, and turned away from him in order to hide the tears still trickling down her face. She brushed her hair in a way as to hide her visage, and rubbed her eyes vigorously on her sweater sleeve. She was making an the best of her effort to stop, but was having a hard go at it. Seeming to sense this, Snape did the kindest, most tender thing Harry had ever seen him do, except in his guise of Professor De Rhone--he stroked her auburn head comfortingly. It was a short, brief movement that might have even been accidental if the circumstances rendered differently, if Snape had merely broken a leg and his arms had been in epitome condition, but, as the circumstances were such as they were, it could not possibly have been deemed a mistake. Harry, if he had been that girl, would have vomited on the spot, but Cherry made an undistinguishable, quiet, little, quirky, animalistic, high-pitched noise, and smiled a bit. Hesitantly, her hand made for his, and, suddenly, as fast as one might rip off a bandage, she grasped the hand that hung limply off the bed. Either because he was too tired to resist or whether he didn't mind was impossible to discern, but, at any rate, Snape did not pull his hand away from Cherry, and, actually, seemingly content with the world and its contents, closed his eyes (the sleeping potion taking effect.) At this, Harry abruptly turned on his heel and left the room. He was seriously going to be sick if he stayed in there and watched them for another minute.

Severus did not know what had gotten into Cherry. He had wanted to laugh as she stood in the doorway, screaming at Potter, but he was too weak, and, anyhow, he was supposed to be in a dead faint. But he couldn't not open his eyes when she had finished listening for his heartbeat. Even when his eyelids felt as heavy as lead, he had to get a look at her expression. It had been an uncomfortable moment when she was so close to him, but she had moved away quickly enough before he was annoyed by the feeling. However, he was not too concerned that she had suspected that he had not been in a faint the whole time. Neither could he understand her curious and impulsive yet sweet behaviour in the hospital room. She had seemed genuinely concerned about his welfare, and he had felt so peaceful and satisfied when she held his hand of her own volition. He could not tell where or how or why she was so kind to him, but he decided in his own mind to be a little nicer to her in the future. Maybe, for the first time in seventeen years (with the exception of foolish Draco Malfoy) Snape was someone's favourite teacher. The very thought warmed him and made him feel better about himself. Despite these reflections, though, Snape was still blind to the fact that Cherry was wildly in love with him and had been so for a long time.

Eileen Snape shook angrily at the gate to Hogwarts. "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?" she called shrilly, sounding in tone as though she had been talking on the Muggle telephone and been cut off. She shook the gate again, wondering if she should risk trying to climb over it. Her calls, however, were soon met by heavy approaching footsteps.

"If ye'd be so's kind as to wait 'til, mornin', ye'd be meetin' a better reception, mind," mumbled Hagrid to himself as he waded up to the gate amid the full force of the rainy night. He held a large lantern in one hand and Fang's collar in the other. "Show yerself," demanded Hagrid, "Be ye villain or foe." He raised the lantern higher to the level of his eye. "Why if it ain't Eileen Prince!" he exclaimed, truly surprised. "I'd 'ave thought ye long dead by now."

"Hello, Rubeus," said Mrs. Snape quietly.

"Erm, that would be Mrs. Snape now, though, would'n it?" Hagrid quickly corrected himself. "May I say now," he added in a compliment to make up for this slight oversight, "That ye look just as perty as when I saws ye last when ye was a girl." (This was very much flattery, since she looked very much like a wet rat rather than a 'perty girl' in her rumpled, soaked garb) "Are ye alone?"

She smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Rubeus, I'm afraid that whatever you just said I didn't hear. You see," she added in a low tone, "I'm deaf"

"Ye're what?"

When all she did was look at him in reply, he finally caught on.

"Oh, dumb, ye mean?"

"I'd like to come in, if it is at all possible."

Hagrid shook his head as he drew a key and an odd assortment of dark magic detectors from his pocket. "Terr'ble" he commiserated with her, although he knew she would not hear him.

She said nothing more as Hagrid ran the sensors over her head through the bars of the gate, just shivered.

"All right then, all done," Hagrid said in conclusion, and he slid the key into the lock. "Security's been tightened to higher than ever since last year" he explained as the gate slid open just enough for the diminutive Mrs. Snape to slide in along with her bags. It shut after her with a clang.

They walked in silence to Hagrid's hut, where he left Fang and retrieved an umbrella and a warm blanket for Eileen to wrap herself in. They then made their way to the great doors into the castle.

It took some time for McGonagall to come around to open the doors for them. She was muttering inaudibly to herself under her breath until she saw who was with Hagrid.

"Eileen!" she exclaimed, her expression becoming at once brighter.

"Minerva!" They shook hands warmly.

"It's been so long since you've been here!" exclaimed McGonagall, still surprised and somewhat befuddled as how to break the just hours fresh news of Snape's attempted suicide to his mother.

Mrs. Snape looked around with a sigh. "It's been so long since I've been here!"

"Oh, right, yes" McGonagall replied crisply, casting a sidelong glance at the other. "Oh, and Hagrid," she added, "I can take care of things from here."

"Right-o" Hagrid acknowledged, turning to go. "Oh, yeah, and Perfessor?" he added, suddenly remembering.

"Yes, Hagrid?"

"Eileen's a mute, ye know that, right?"

McGonagall digested this a moment, then nodded. "Yes, of course I did," she lied irritably, taking Mrs. Snape's arm and leading her down the hall towards the hospital wing.

On the way there, Minerva did her best to explain where they were going and why by writing words in the air for Eileen to read.

_"Severus has had a horrible incident,"_ she sketched hurriedly.

Eileen stopped. "Is he all right?" she asked slowly.

_"Madame Pomfrey claims that he will recover." _

"Madame Pomfrey being the current nurse here?"

_"Yes"_ They continued on.

"I thought something like this had happened," murmured Mrs. Snape. "I had an Omen of Death pass by me. What exactly happened?"

_"He cut his wrists." _

"What?! Not in suicidal attempt, surely?"

_"Yes, actually."_ At this, Mrs. Snape toppled and fell against the wall.

"Why?" she gasped. "Why did he do it? What caused him to want to take his own life? If it was anything I said or did, I myself should be put to death!" Her eyes swelled with tears. This past month had been so wretched to her!

McGonagall wrote very quickly, _"I'm so sorry," _and proffered a lace handkerchief. They remained there, the two of them, in the hallway, for a few moments until Eileen regained her composure enough.

"But he'll be all right? That's what they say? It's wonderful, I know, but I'm surprised at that," she said slowly. "He has always been a fiercely efficient boy. If he had truly wanted to kill himself, I'm sure he would have tried so that there would have been no chance of escaping death. So perhaps the cause is not as horrible as it seems!"

McGonagall did not reply, but just helped Eileen dab away her tears and guide her down the hall to the hospital wing.

They were met with the scene of Cherry Peterson crying, prostrate, in the corner, Dumbledore standing protectively over the bed, and Snape in a drug-induced slumber in the bed. At Minerva and Eileen's approach, though, Cherry stood and offered her chair to the nearly-son-deprived widow. Surprisingly, after her breakdown in the hall, Mrs. Snape seemed very calm as she dropped her bags (which she had carried all the way here, for some reason) and picked up her son's hand.

"Cherry, I know it's been more of a shock to you than anyone here can know," murmured Dumbledore quietly as Eileen stood over her son, "But perhaps Professor McGonagall will escort you to your common room. The hour is late, and you have classes to attend tomorrow."

"Yes sir," mumbled Cherry respectfully, and she stood, wiping her face vigorously some more with her sweater sleeve. McGonagall took her shoulder and gently manoeuvred her halfway out the door, but Cherry turned around again suddenly and, to Dumbledore, asked, "You won't tell anyone what I just was telling you? Right?"

Dumbledore shook his head solemnly. "Not a soul," he stated.

"Not even my mom?"

Dumbledore restrained a smile. "Not even your mother."

"Thank you. Thank you so much, Professor. I would get in horrible trouble if she knew. And I will try what you suggested." With that, though, McGonagall guided her out of the room.

Dumbledore and Mrs. Snape talked quietly amongst each other (or, rather, Eileen talked, Dumbledore wrote) for a long time. After a while, Snape himself woke up and gave what little contribution he could to the conversation. And, for the first time, they explained what had been happening for the last sixteen years to Mrs. Snape. It was very much a shock for her to learn that her son had ever been affiliated with such things as the Death Eaters, or even that such a powerful evil as Voldemort existed. It was, perhaps, a bit too much to give her all at once, and it was highly complex and somewhat befuddling. At all too late an hour, Mrs. Snape left, sobbing from all of the built-up stress she had been put under, on Dumbledore's shoulder. He let her have a spare bedroom that night, and the next day escorted her to a remote Muggle village in the Swiss Alps, where she could stay safely hidden away until Voldemort was gone and it was safe for her to come home.

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Love it? Especially review. 

_Main point: REVIEW PLEASE! _


	21. Chapter 27

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

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1st proposal (ugh…) 

Snape was correcting papers that evening when a short tap came at his office door. "Come in," he barked, supposing it to be a fellow teacher.

"Professor Snape?"

It was Cherry Peterson. Blast the girl, she always seemed to cause trouble wherever she went. Snape kept on writing notes on the paper.

"Yes, Miss Peterson?" After waiting a moment without her replying, he continued, "If you haven't yet observed, I am busy."

"Yes sir." With that, Cherry plunked heavily down at a desk.

Snape continued to work. When she seemed to show no signs of going anywhere, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Sitting," came her reply, saucy in word but innocent in tone.

Snape laid down his pen. "Now you know what I mean."

"All right then," Cherry replied, correcting herself, "I'm waiting until you're done. I want your fullest attention for what I want to ask you."

Snape shook his head complacently, like a nag trying to shoo a fly, and turned back to his work. "Go ahead, I can multitask."

"I can wait."

"Why?"

Cherry smiled. "Is there any reason not to?"

Snape tried, in vain, to come up with some reasons. Accidentally, while he did this, he made a 'q' instead of a 'p' when writing a correction note. "For one," he stated more concisely than he felt, "You should be in bed. It is nearly midnight." 

"Well, I do better without much sleep. And, also, if I should be in bed, shouldn't you too?"

Snape disregarded this. "For second," he went on, "I can focus my entire attention on one thing as well as another. I don't need to cease in my work just to answer your question."

Cherry got up, walked over to the desk, and peered over the paper. "And this is your entire attention?" she asked, pointing to the scratched-out mistakes in his notes, and ones he hadn't even noticed.

Snape again ignored her. "For third," he continued, "People are going to start to think things if they see us together, you being…er…female, and me being male."

Cherry pulled the paper suddenly from underneath his hand just as he was forming a 't', so that a long mark went down the page now. This got his attention. He looked up at her. "What?" he asked, almost threateningly as she stared into his eyes.

"You really don't like me, do you?" Cherry's tone made the sentence sound more declarative than interrogative.

Snape shrugged, then went back to writing.

"Well?" demanded Cherry, who had clearly been expecting more of a response. "I know you don't like me as a student, but do you like me as a person?"

"Truth be told, no." Snape didn't even look up at her. "I don't like you at all."

"If you were still Gary De Rhone, would you like me even the smallest bit?" This was indeed a ridiculous question.

"No. I never was Gary De Rhone; I have no idea why you even suggested that. And no, if I still was incognito as Gary De Rhone, I might actually have a lover, and it wouldn't be you."

Cherry's voice grew slightly constricted here, as though she had a bit of a sore throat. "Do you…ever wish that you were Gary De Rhone?"

Snape flung down his quill, shuffled his papers together, and began to stuff them angrily into a folder.

"Et voila, I have made him mad," mockingly observed Cherry in a horribly unconvincing French accent.

At this, Snape got a paper-cut from one of the papers.

"Damn," he ejaculated, and thrust his thumb in his mouth. He looked rather like an angry baby. At this, rather humorous picture, Cherry laughed. "What?" Snape demanded.

"Oh, nothing, nothing; it's just that that's a habit of mine, too."

"What is?"

"Oh, never mind, it doesn't matter."

Snape was getting fed up with her rambling. "What's your question? Hurry up, out with it. I haven't got all night."

"If you don't like me, there's no question at all." At this, Cherry turned to leave. Snape was immensely curious, though.

"Wait, don't go."

Cherry turned around again, her eyebrows raised questioningly at him. "I thought you didn't like me."

"I don't. But what I _would_ like to know is why you walked in here to bother me."

Cherry shook her head. "Bother Snape? My, that's a good idea. Bother, bother, bother, bother, bother. There, now I've officially bothered you. But, anyhow, as to my question, it's been answered."

"How?"

"Since you don't like me," she stated simply.

Snape was even more curious. "Ok, well, let's pretend I did like you," he said, almost amicably. "What would you say then?"

Cherry walked back in and sat down at the other desk again. "Well," she began slowly, "I know this is very sudden, and all, but…well…"

"Well what?"

"Well…I don't know how to make this any more less blunt, but here it is…I want you to marry me."

Snape thought he had head wrong. "Excuse me," he replied, "I think I heard wrong. I thought you said that you want to marry me."

"Well, that's what I did say."

Snape looked at her, dumbfounded. "What?" he almost roared.

Cherry shrunk back as much as she possibly could what with her solidness. "Yes, well, I know I'm a lot younger than you and stuff, and I know I'm girly, and that I'm not frightfully attractive, and I'm fat, and I know we have absolutely nothing in common, but how about it?"

Snape shook his head, his eyes wider than they had ever been as they stared at her in disbelief.

"What's the point?" he demanded. "I don't see it. Who put you up to this?"

"No one. I sincerely want you to marry me."

Severus closed his eyes. She wasn't joking; he knew Cherry couldn't keep a straight face during a joke. That much he had observed numerous times when Moreen Contabulo used to demand her assistance in pinching quills. Cherry always was the one who managed to give away the joke by smiling, covering her nose and mouth with her hand, and eventually bursting out in laughter.

Therefore…"Someone gave you a love potion or something. They're playing a horrible joke on you, Miss Peterson." He stood up, walked into his office, mixed up an antidote, and brought it out.

"Drink this," he said.

"Is this a love potion antidote?"

"Yes," he answered truthfully.

"Ok, if you need me to drink it to make you believe me, then ok…" And Cherry downed the entire glass obediently.

Snape fully expected her to run screaming out of the office after a moment. However, she shrugged and sat down again.

"Chock full of arsenic, I'll bet that was," she grinned ruefully.

Snape shook his head as he looked at her. "No, actually if I were to poison someone, I would use--" But he was interrupted.

"Wait, let me guess," exclaimed Cherry. She pondered a moment, then said, slowly, "Either cyanide or deadly nightshade."

"Actually, yes, nightshade was what I was going to say."

"Huzzah for me," murmured Cherry.

"What's huzzah?" asked Severus suddenly.

Cherry looked at him oddly. "Why, didn't you know?"

Snape nodded no.

"All right then," Cherry began, "It's a military cheer or salute from the--"

"Ah, yes, from the eighteenth century," answered Snape, remembering. "I had forgotten a moment."

But Cherry looked at him with a different eye after that. Severus couldn't tell what was contained in her look at him.

"Back to the main subject," she redirected them. "So, is it no or yes, sir?"

"Would you be horribly crushed if I said most emphatically no?"

"Not really."

Snape sighed. "All right then," he went on, "That just shows us where we are." He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. "You know Miss Peterson," he said, "You are a most interesting psychological case, if I may borrow the Muggle term."

"I could say the same of you" she replied in the same tonality.

Snape concentrated on, a lot less violently, reorganizing his papers. "You know, you were taking an awfully large chance by asking me. What if I…er…was…involved…with another woman currently?"

"I knew you weren't. Aren't" Cherry corrected herself.

"And how?"

"Number one," stated Cherry, "Who would want to be…(sorry for taking your word, but it seems most appropriate here)…_involved_ with you?"

This stung. Badly.

"Number two," Cherry continued unconcernedly, "You're in love with Hermione Granger, who, actually, is a really good choice, if you wanted my opinion, except for that small complication that she absolutely despises you and is all wrapped up around Ronald Weasley." Before he could object, she went on quickly, "And number three…I asked Dumbledore if you were 'with' anyone before I asked you."

"To hell with Dumbledore!" Severus declared hotly. "He wouldn't know that kind of thing even if it were true that I wasn't a bachelor." He sighed exasperatedly. "Is that it?"

"Yes, that's it."

"Then out."

"All right, fine then, I'm gone." Cherry's voice seemed to become tight and her eyes seemed to become rather glassy, or perhaps that was a trick of the light and of the echoes. At any rate, she left, leaving Snape all alone in his silent classroom.

"My first marriage proposal. Must mark the calendar," he muttered. He suddenly began to look anxiously around, but, fortunately for him, Harry Potter was not in the room. "That's for once," he murmured gratefully, and went back to correcting papers.

_

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	22. Chapter 28

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

Another random chapter: Forbidden mountain or something of that sort 

They've got Hermione!!!

Everything and everyone was in chaos. Harry could hear Ron screaming over everything else, "HERMIONE!! HERMIONE!!" in such agonized cries that Harry found himself nearly crying himself. Soon, though, the other members of the Order were gaining back their ground, with the help of the amateur D.A. Harry did not regret at this moment having reorganized the group. A flash of green exploded near his head, hitting a marble statue of a siren and sending it toppling towards Harry. He dodged it just in time; it hit the ground with a grand crash, causing a tremor in the very ground. He then threw himself at the curse's perpetrator, a very tall and broad Death-Eater that was duelling with Sirius. Harry, bewildered and not able to think, spat out the first curse that he could think of—"_Levicorpus!"_ The Death-Eater instantly flipped upside down and hung, suspended, in the air. Harry grabbed Sirius, who had started to laugh, out of the room.

They catapulted right into Snape, who was racing in. "Potter," the latter demanded, "come." With that, he snatched Harry's arm away from Sirius and practically dragged him out again.

"What are we doing, and where are we going?" asked Harry feverishly, not liking Snape touching his arm. "And let go of me, I'll follow you." Instantly, Snape released his arm, but did not slow.

"I'll explain later," he remarked.

"HARRY?" yelled Ron, whom Harry heard behind them somewhere.

"Ron, come on!" Harry yelled, not exactly sure why he had. They soon reached the door out of the castle. Having to pause for half a minute to open the large heavy doors, Ron was able to catch up to them.

"What the bloody hell is going on--" he began to say, but Harry grabbed his arm as Snape broke into a sprint out the doors. Harry plodded after him, almost pulling Ron. They raced over the grounds for some time. After at least a mile and a half, and twelve minutes, they were at the gates out of the grounds. Snape stopped again only to unlock and push open the heavy gates. Harry noticed that he was panting. It made him slightly more human, somehow, to see him panting.

"All right, now where was Dumbledore telling you we had to go in order to get the last horocrux?" Snape was shutting the gates now as they stood outside Hogwarts. Harry paused to think.

"The…the Mountain of Olstead," he declared. With that, Snape grabbed Harry's arm with one hand and Ron's in the other, and, without any further warning, they were flying through the air, spinning, landing… 

"Here." They were again on solid ground.

"So that's apparating?" asked Ron shakily. "That's a bit frightening."

"We can't get up any further on the mountain except on foot," mused Snape. Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"So we're going up now, in the middle of the night, with no light, no way to see, giving whomever's at the top all the advantages?" Harry was irritated.

Snape shook his head. "We cannot do anything now, but we shall start climbing the mountain at first dawn."

Ron looked at the other two. "Ok, seriously people, I have no clue what we are doing here."

"We're getting the sixth horocrux; had I been in your place, Weasley, even I should have been able to deduce that," Snape said sagely.

"What about the…well, he-who-must-not-be--" Ron tried to protest, but he was cut off by Snape.

"That would be the Dark Lord, and, no, he will not be able to climb the mountain in this darkness either. If he is even here, he will probably be on the other side of the mountain, in exactly the same position as ourselves. Therefore, we should not waste any moment we have. Sleep well." And, suddenly, Snape dropped down to the ground in a heap. Following his example, Ron and Harry confusedly fell onto the ground, and, wrapping themselves in their cloaks, drifted off to sleep.

Harry awoke to the darkness of early morning and a boot in his face. He snatched up his glasses from where he had placed them on a rock and shoved them on, standing up as he did so. Snape had moved from him, in the meantime, to wake up Ron.

"Good luck with that," murmured Harry. Ron was a deep sleeper usually, but, apparently, not today. He sat up with a jolt.

"It's too early," mumbled Ron, and, forgetting for a moment his whereabouts, dropped back down on the ground. Snape gave him another undignified tap on the nose with his shoe, and Ron sat up again a bit more slowly.

"Time to go" was all that Snape said, and Ron groaned.

"It's not even light yet."

Snape shrugged. "It will be, in an hour's time. We can, meanwhile, begin our trek up the mountain." And, as abruptly as he had gone to sleep last night, he turned around and headed away from them.

"Hey, wait up!" exclaimed Ron, who was standing up by now, and briskly walking after Harry.

In short, Harry, Ron, and Snape go on a quest to find Voldemort after the death eaters come and raid the school, apparently for fun. They carry off Hermione. on the mountain, with the abducted Hermione. Ron gets knocked out by injury from a dragon. Then Snape disappears for a while. Harry goes on without him, takes on Voldemort single-handedly. Gets in a tight spot. Snape attacks Voldemort from behind. Voldemort and Snape have a tussle, Voldemort drops his wand, Snape almost gets the upper hand, but Voldemort shoves him over the cliff. Harry retrieves Voldemort's wand and kills Voldemort. Hermione rushes down to aid Snape, if he can be aided. Harry burns body of Voldemort to ensure its destruction. Goes down to help Hermione with Snape, who seems to be dead. They compose a sort of stretcher, carry him and Ron, who comes back into consciousness, as decently as possible when they disapparate to Hogwarts.

_

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_Main point: REVIEW PLEASE! _


	23. Chapter 29

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

Chapter next. 

Snape awoke suddenly from his lapse of consciousness. He became aware that he was lying on a semi-comfortable bed that smelt of flowered laundry soap. However, everything around him was in darkness. He inhaled deeply, only to be confronted by a suffocatingly-heavy sheet draped over his face and a sharp pain in his chest. His sense of hearing suddenly kicked into gear; near his feet he could hear someone sniffling unhappily, and in the background he could hear a familiar voice talking and crying, saying over and over again, "Ron! Ron!" The latter was definitely Hermione. It took a moment for this fact to register itself in his brain. "She's alive then," he mused with relief in his thoughts. He wondered who it was who cried quietly by his bed. Wait a minute…bed…starched sheets…Hermione's voice…now talk of sleeping potion…he knew where he was. The hospital wing at Hogwarts. But how had he gotten here? What had happened with Harry and Ron and Hermione and Voldemort? These thoughts raced through his mind, which soon became clouded with lack of oxygen. He tolerated a second deep breath in order to clear his thoughts. He should be trying to get Madame Pomfrey over to fix his chest. What must be wrong with his chest anyhow? He needed to breathe again…there, that was better. Judging by how much it hurt, he supposed he had cracked his rib. However, now, from not being able to see, he was getting a bit claustrophobic and nervous. What if there was nothing over his head, and he had just simply gone blind from concussion from the fall? But this was absurd. Nevertheless, his brain commanded his arms to lift the sheet up and off of him, but to no avail. It seemed as though his arms were broken. He then tried, just as unsuccessfully and painfully, to move his legs, but that too was impossible. All right then, he needed more air…breathe in, breathe out. Ok, so now what did he do to attract attention? He was reminded of the sniffling person's existence by another sniff, and a hand resting heavily on his chest, just in the place that was broken or cracked or something. Unconsciously, he drew his breath in sharply, causing the rib to hurt more. That wasn't a good idea.

"That was weird," whispered the hoarse voice of the Sniffler, who Snape could hear was actually Cherry Peterson. She drew her hand off of him, causing him to breathe sharply again and again feel a sudden stab of pain.

"Cherry!" he whispered, loudly enough, he hoped, to attract her attention. At this, though, Cherry started to weep.

"Oh, what have _I_ done?" she asked in a whisper. "What have _I_ done to cause this…this…this _thing_ to happen to the one I love? The evilness which took him now wishes to drive me to madness by making me believe that I hear his sweet voice, which shall never evermore resound in the world of the living, again when I do not? Oh, this evil, leave me in peace!" She threw herself down in a chair that Snape assumed was beside the bed and sat in silence for some moments. Snape realized that she, at least, perhaps everyone, thought him dead. Well, he would show them that Gary De—whoops, that Severus Snape was of a more durable sort than that!

"Cherry!" He whispered louder this time, as loud as he could possibly muster. Cherry just sobbed again.

"If only I could hear him again, even in chastisement, it would…would…mean that…" She broke off, her voice becoming restricted.

"Oh God, this is getting ridiculous," Snape thought confusedly to himself. "What's she moaning about? Perhaps Harry died. She's mad because Voldemort killed Harry, that's it." He was still slightly befuddled in the mind from all the pain he was in and from being deprived of air. Still, he did not understand why she was crying.

"CHERRY!!" he whispered again, "Cherry, foolish girl, help me!"

"The spirits try and trick me again," Cherry murmured hysterically. "Oh Severus, I wish you were living now, if only I had told you before you died how I love you. True, I proposed marriage, but that is a different thing entirely; one can not love and still marry. It is the oddest thing for me to say to a man, 'I love you,' but that's the way it is for me. I know I was never your favourite student. And I know you probably despised me, as I despise myself. But nevertheless, I wish I had told you before you died. It would have been a nice thought for you to carry until your dying breath. Perhaps it would have made life just a bit happier for you when you died so valiantly doing your duty. But perhaps you guessed my feelings for you before now. I nearly gave myself away several times, but I think my most flagrant time was when you tried to kill yourself. Yes, indeed. I have loved you ever since I first saw you as De Rhone, and I didn't care that you turned into one of England's most hated. I knew underlying your brusque manner was a worthy man, a man that I loved." 

Snape was stunned by this whispered speech. She was not saying this for his benefit; indeed, she thought him dead. She was saying this merely by way of letting out her feelings. This was no fib she was spinning. He lay, thinking furiously, for many minutes in mutual silence with her.

Cherry stood up and began to whisper again to herself. "I wonder if anyone would…I mean, it isn't right to do, but…oh, who the heck cares anyways? It's a stupid corpse. No one will care." Snape felt heavy hot tears splash down onto him, and as they soaked through the sheet he presumed to be over him, and through, more uncomfortably, his clothes. And, suddenly, Cherry ripped off the sheet from over his eyes.

Severus blinked; the light from the windows was bright compared to the dark of the blanket. He was most relieved to see that his eyes were none the worse for his fall. The air without the blanket over his head was cool and crisp and refreshing. Cherry stared at him in a mixture of embarrassment and joy and surprise. He wondered what she had been about to do a minute ago. "You…you're alive?" she croaked.

"Yes. Get Pomfrey. Bro--(gasp)…Broken rib." He hadn't the breath to say more. Still stunned, Cherry slowly walked away, in a daze. After she allowed the situation to sink in, however, she raced off down the hallway.

"Ma-_dame_ Pomfrey!!" he heard her calling, (stressing the 'dame' in madame as the Italians do) as she dashed away. With a slight smile, he relaxed, and let his body sleep.

About four minutes later, he opened his eyes to see Madame Pomfrey, and Cherry gazing earnestly into his eyes. Even Hermione peeked in behind them, (he could just see her beyond the point of his nose) so that she could see what was going on. Again, though he knew her affections lay elsewhere and that she looked in for purely innocent reasons, Severus felt his heart leap. He must have actually physically moved, because he felt immediately afterwards the pain in his chest once more. Madame Pomfrey, reassured of his live condition and Cherry's honesty by his sudden movement, seemed almost pleased that he hadn't been the first patient she had ever lost. "Oh Severus, we had thought you were gone." And she got briskly to the point. "Are there severe internal injuries, any that you can sense?"

"Just bones. Rib, arms, legs," murmured Severus.

"Ah, yes, the rib must be most painful of the lot. Can you breathe?"

"Little."

He soon felt her deft fingers running along his rib cage. She almost immediately located the painful spot, and he gave a little gasp involuntarily.

"This one?"

"Yes."

It took but a flick of her wand to cause the bone to mend itself. He felt the location of the break grow suddenly hot, then, just as suddenly, cold. And then it no longer pained him. He inhaled deeply, and, to his immense satisfaction, he could breathe without hurting.

"There. All better?"

"Pretty much." Severus sighed. He heard Hermione and Cherry walk away. One he heard walk down the hall, one he heard stopped right outside the door to give the nurse and patient privacy. He knew which was which, but he wished desperately for the opposite, which was impossible. In the meanwhile, Pomfrey went about mending the rest of his bones. It was a rather tedious process that took the better part of half an hour, but soon he was completely better except for the bruises and minor cuts he had received in his fall. Pomfrey left him then, and sent a house-elf for his nightclothes, which were brought to him almost instantly, and he quietly undressed and got back into bed. He was immensely tired; he hadn't been this weary in so long, but he still had something to attend to.

"Miss Peterson?" he called quietly. "Could you please come in here?"

Slowly, hesitantly, Cherry stepped into the doorway. Her face was red with embarrassment, and she couldn't look him directly in the eye. "Yes, Professor Snape?" she asked just as timidly as she appeared.

"Come here." He gestured to the chair she had vacated less than an hour previously. Meekly, but unsure, Cherry plunked down heavily in the chair. Gone was the girl ranting about her lost love; this girl was as sane as sane could be, and it would only be the last word leaving her lips that would be love. However, Snape looked at her in a different light. She began to try and explain herself.

"Sir, about a while ago--"

"What about awhile ago?"

She sighed. "I mean, I hope you won't take anything I said to heart. I was nerve-wrecked and rambling."

("Ha!" Snape thought to himself, "She seemed perfectly truthful then. Why does she deny it now?")

She went on, "I am saying, in truth, that everything I said is not true."

He laughed. This was strangely hilarious; one minute, she thought him dead, and was proclaiming him to be the one true love of her life, the next minute, he was nothing but a teacher again. "Ha. Oddly enough, I can't seem to make myself believe that."

Cherry began to look flustered. "Well, that's the truth. I meant nothing that I said."

Severus shook his head. "You're no good at lying, you know."

"I'm not lying."

He looked at her squarely in the eye. "Why _are_ you lying to me, Cherry…if I may be so informal as to call you by your Christian name?"

Cherry shook her head, looking at the floor. "I'm not lying, and you can call me whatever you like."

Snape nodded. "Perhaps, would you mind terribly, if, one day, you would call me…oh, how do I put this…oh." He stopped short, then began a new phrase. "You asked me something not too long ago, about three weeks ago now, I think. I said no then. But, I think I might just have changed my mind." He looked at her pointedly. Cherry's head raised just a smidgen, and he could see that her eyes were glistening for not the first time that day. She smiled, but looked shamefacedly at the floor once more. When she looked up again, all signs of mirth had left her face, and she looked closely at him, closing her right eye as she did so.

"But…but why?" she asked softly. "You love Hermione. Or do you not anymore?" she added, somewhat irritated. Severus shook his head.

"I can never not love her, Cherry. But, I find that she is far beyond my reach. She shall marry Ron, or Harry, or whomever she chooses, except yours truly. And, since I tolerably like you, and you seem to be very much…er…and since you seem to like me a lot, I am giving you the opportunity to choose what way you wish to go. I shouldn't be doing this, really, especially since you are not even out of school, but, perhaps, next year…you wouldn't mind? We could keep our—er, engagement—a secret until then."

He received the best reply he could have when she very abruptly and impulsively threw her arms around his neck. "Yes! Yes! Forever and forever yours, I am!" (she sounded a bit like Yoda, what with her hoarse voice and language mangled by elation.) And, just as impulsively, Snape kissed her gently on the cheek. Cherry blushed scarlet but did not let go of him. Urged on by something he knew not, slowly, almost painfully, Severus drew his arms around her waist in turn. It felt weird, but, at the same time, it didn't. The pair sat for a time on the bed in silence, just listening to each other's breathing and heartbeat. The only other sound in the room was that of Ron and Hermione, beyond the curtain partition that encircled the bed, murmuring together. Severus' mind, which was constantly racing, even when his body was in such an intimate position as it was now, guessed they were in a similar situation. He closed his eyes and, at the same time, tried to close his mind to Hermione. He needed to forget about her, and here was his antidote in his arms now; all he needed to do was use it…

He drew his right arm from around her and gently removed her head from his shoulder, positioning her face so that their noses were almost touching in an Eskimo kiss. "May as well be official," he muttered by way of a gruff explanation, then, suddenly, kissed her directly on the lips. He pulled away a second later, and looked into her eyes questioningly. Cherry, on the other hand, stared back in a nonverbal reply, and her ears had turned a bright red, and seemed to radiate heat. Somewhere in the distance a door opened and slammed shut, and two pairs of running footsteps were approaching them, but that seemed to be of no consequence just now…

"We should try that a little…er, better, shouldn't…er, shouldn't we?" She seemed most embarrassed, as he was, and a bit bewildered, as he also was, but pleased, as he was completely. In reply, they both moved in for another embrace…

A rustling occurred as the curtains were drawn away, but neither noticed nor cared. They only drew away from each other hurriedly when a door being slammed startled them from their reverie, and then turned to face a grinning…Dumbledore.

"Oh my, there's a water spot on the ceiling that looks remarkably like the shape of Italy," he murmured by way of introduction, staring upwards. Cherry abashedly stood up, straightening her hair and blushing red enough to make a radish jealous. She politely proffered her chair to Dumbledore as Severus too tried to collect his bearings by twisting a strand of his hair in between his fingertips. He smiled nervously.

"Hello Albus, I had figured that you weren't coming. What exactly happened?" He tried to sound normal, but he felt like one of those men in old Muggle movies who pull at their collars when they are anxious. Dumbledore waved his hand at Cherry in reassurance that he was not going to take her chair, and conjured up one of his own squashy pink ones from his wand.

"Well, Severus, I was just informed of your apparent demise just minutes ago. Harry very inconveniently forgot to mention the fact that you had sustained serious injuries from a fall until then." Dumbledore turned his head slowly to the left, then more quickly to the right. "That's funny, he was with me just now," he said quietly.

Severus' heart sank. "Did he…he didn't see…I mean…" he flustered anxiously. Harry would have been slightly surprised to see him now. Severus Snape, flustering! Indeed, that was too much! Dumbledore, however, registered this as not uncommon behaviour for him, and, in turn, shrugged.

"It is possible that he witnessed your rather intimate moment, yes. Possibly also the reason he left, very likely."

"Nooooooooooooo………….." Snape glared at the ceiling. "Curse the boy," he added dully.

Cherry nearly snorted in laughter, but managed very quickly to turn it into a coughing fit.

"My first and only time," Severus continued sadly, "And my worst enemy still in existence _had_ to observe it! Just my rotten luck." He smiled suddenly and looked at Dumbledore. "Well, maybe he'll realize now that I actually have a softer side." Severus sighed and went on, "I suppose he did, anyhow, describe the entire fiasco to you?" Dumbledore nodded in assent.

"Yes, he did, though he only lightly skimmed over the role you played in the course of events."

Snape shook his head. "No more that I would have expected from him. However, he and Hermione did most of the work. It is actually by my own weakness and folly that I dropped about twenty feet--"

"I should say sixty, if you do not mind my contradiction, sir," interrupted a voice, and Hermione popped her head through the curtains.

"Really?" Snape looked at her coldly by way of greeting.

"Yes. It's a wonder that you weren't killed." By her tone and look, she also implied _"And it's too bad you weren't!" _

Snape looked at Dumbledore, then at Cherry, for unsaid moral support, receiving it from both. He continued as though Hermione had left. "As I was saying, I dropped a great (and rather debateable, it seems) distance, but it was my own fault. If I had thought a little quicker, I could have landed on both feet and sustained little more injury than a shock, but, as it stands currently, I did not, and I am admitting it now that it was my own fault." Here he heard the rustle of curtains as Hermione moved out. His conscience slapped him internally for being so rude, but it was his only choice if he was ever going to be able to forget her.

On their arrival, Hermione takes Snape and Ron to Madame Pomfrey while Harry goes up to tell Dumbledore the news. Dumbledore is elated to hear of Voldemort's destruction, but when he hears that Snape was killed, he gets very upset and rushes to the hospital wing. It turns out that Cherry is there already, snogging Snape just as they come in. Harry is disgusted with that, and leaves immediately. Explanations ensue, Cherry is just as happy with Dumbledore's kin (Gary) as with Snape, and everything is concluded satisfactorily.

"I thought she wasn't allowed to date until she was 21…"

_

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Love it? Especially review. 

_Main point: REVIEW PLEASE! _


	24. Chapter 30

It sucks that I have to have a disclaimer. Ok. I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not j.k. (just kidding) about the fact that I'm not J.K. Rowling. I am not affiliated with Warner Bros. nor do I make any claim to be. Fan writing FAN fiction. Enough said.

_**I never finished this fanfiction, and I never intend to. However, there were many chapters that I composed amid others that I did not, and I want to post them just as a reference tool for myself. I am not ever going to fill out any of the incomplete chapters.**_

* * *

_**Writer's Candy, and assorted Notes**_

_"I have finished the total destruction of the aforementioned item, and have an idea of where the next is. Currently, I'm in a cave somewhere in the south, but due to possible interception, I do not mention exactly where. Anyhow, I know you will do your utmost in playing your part well. However, if anyone begins to suspect that you are not who you seem, write me. I will send a letter that will prove of my life and perfect liberty, not only putting you in the clear. So fare well, my boy." _

_Flute: Elizabeth Montpelier (G) Lea Clockenburger (H) Rachel Vanise (S) Danielle Norbert (R) Sarah Afleura (H) _

_Clarinet: Réna Gomez (R) Hermione Granger (G) Morinda Porpington (G) Ariana Mann (S) Greg Santiago (R) _

_Oboe: Cherry Peterson (G) _

_Bassoon: Sandra Miller (H) Bianca Davenport (R) _

_Bass Clarinet: Andrew Thompson (S) Dana Windiford (H) _

_Bari__. Sax: Trenton Oxford (H) Mark Vane (S) _

_Alto Sax: Patty Owen (R) Ophelia Young (R) Max Verall (H) Joseph Lane (G) _

_Tenor Sax: Kristin Spade (G) Diane Race (S) _

_Trumpet: David Autumnrook (G) Kyle Wolf (R) Taylor Jenkins (H) Terry Boot (R) Evan Holmes (G) Alex St. Mary (R) Aaron Quinn (R) _

_Horn: Mabel Vincent (S) Ginny Weasley (G) _

_Baritone: Paul Marks (S) _

_Trombone: Ronald Weasley (G) Wilkes O'Reilly (R) Jake McQueen (R) _

_Tuba: Cassie Nord (S) Bryanaa Lux (H) _

_Percussion: Jake Porter (G) Noel Goodfellow (S) Harry Potter (G) Heather Dwyer (H) Julian Moon (G) _

_Violin: Lia Peterson (G) Lavender Brown (G) Alexandra Maher (H) Lilliane Murphy (R) Ava Simpson (R) _

_Viola: Olga Ratcliff (S) Timothy Kimball (H) Frieda Garnet (H) _

_Cello: Grant Bates (H) Mona Perrot (R) Raven Coxcomb (R) _

_Bass: Melissa Anthony (G) Peter Quince (S) _

_Alto Clarinet: Randolph Lemon (H) _

Fred and Tam

------------------------------

…Hermione and Tam were getting ready for bed in their room. Tam was sitting on her bed, reading a Muggle magazine entitled "Teen People." Hermione was brushing her teeth in the bathroom just adjoining their quarters.

Tam had thrown her dirty pair of jeans into the hamper to be laundered the next day. Hermione, as she tossed her washcloth in with them, noticed an uncharacteristic bulge in one of the pockets. Trying to be helpful and prevent her friend's belongings from being washed, Hermione stuck her hand in the pocket and withdrew a wad of folded paper. Enticingly, there was nothing written on them.

Curious, Hermione unfolded the papers. The first page had no heading, just had a date—that day. Hermione unscrupulously began to read what she recognized to be Tam's handwriting.

_"I wish I could tell someone,"_ the paper read. _"It's hell trying to contain one's feelings within one's self. But, most of all, I wish that I could tell Fred. If only he wasn't dating Angelina Johnson, then I might have a chance. But, as for as it goes now, I can't even try. I know he likes me, at least a little, as a friend. Couldn't that, though, someday deepen into love, with a little patience and a lot of attention?" _

Hermione laid down the papers, shocked, without finishing. She never would have guessed that Tam fancied Fred! But, then, that's why she always wanted to be with him whenever possible, and why she always managed to laugh at even his worst jokes! Somewhat stunned, Hermione stood up and went into their room.

"Tam, I think these are yours," she said, trying to smile. Tam looked up, recognized her papers, and grabbed at them.

"Hey, give those back!"

In reply, Hermione tossed down the papers next to Tam on the bed. Tam looked at her. "You didn't read them, did you?" Tam asked incredulously. Hermione nodded.

"Tam," she said slowly, "How long have you loved Fred?"

Tam sighed. "Ever since I first met him again. When I knew him when we were little, I never really cared, of course. But now, he's…he's the world to me." She shook her head sadly.

Hermione patted Tam's shoulder. "You should tell him!"

Tam looked startled. "What! Are you out of your mind?"

"No," Hermione replied sullenly.

"He's got a girlfriend already," declared Tam with a dejected tone in her voice.

Hermione shook her head. "They've been on a rocky relationship ever since you came back," she said softly.

Tam looked at her friend. "Really? Well, I always thought that that was the way he was with his girls."

"Nope. He doesn't. And, to tell you the truth, Tam,I think he's pretty taken to you too."

"Really!?" exclaimed Tam.

"Really," replied Hermione.

---------------------------------

"And don't come back! It's over! I repeat, it's over!" Fred watched the door slam in his face.

"Angelina!" he called, wanting to reconcile. "ANGELINA!"

"Go away! You obviously don't love me anymore! Well, fine then, I don't love you any more either! Go away!" screamed Angelina from inside the house.

Fred looked wistfully at the door, half hoping it would open. Oh, who was he fooling? Angelina wasn't coming back to him, not after how he had treated her.

Sure, it wasn't HIS fault for forgetting her birthday today.

(Ok, well, he admitted, maybe it was. What a swell boyfriend he was, showing up at her door with nary a card nor present nor flowers in sight.)

But he hadn't forgotten her on St. Valentine's day!

(Well, actually, he had just brought her a box of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Special Trick Chocolate. But he had meant to get the regular sort for her, honest!)

And there was no excuse for Christmas.

(He had simply slipped a card into the mailbox on his way to dinner at the Burrow.)

Of course, though, if it wasn't Angelina he was dating, the story might have been different…

Fred shook his head vigorously. No, no, no! Must…forget…about…Tam. Tam didn't even like him that much! It was very much a one-sided love affair. He loved her, he wanted her. Yet she scarcely knew him!

Fred sighed. He very much wished he could tell someone about this, but he couldn't. Not even George could understand how he felt.

Age: 14

Country: U.S.

About myself:

For a long time I knew of yet disapproved of Harry Potter both due to religious reasons, and the fact that I considered myself averse to fantasy. I never saw the movie, never read the books, and ignored all conversations betwixt my friends regarding Harry Potter. My friends, and my aunt in particular, tried to get me hooked on the them, but I was too stubborn to even consider it. This went on for years and years, that is, until last summer. I was hosting a sleepover sometime in the weeks just before school began again, and, finally, under influence of the lateness of the hour and my friends' persistance, I gave in and agreed to let them play the movie. I fully expected to fall asleep within the first twelve minutes or so, but, instead, fantastically, I did not. I stayed awake and watched the entire movie with them. Afterwards I declared to my friends, "I stand corrected--this Harry Potter thing isn't so bad." '...Isn't so bad!' I had said. Dear me, if I could see my present state then! Anyhow, to continue my story, in the ensuing week, I bought all three movies and watched them over and over. Some time afterwards, probably the end of September 2005, my younger brother bought the book. It took him a week to read, but when he finally handed over custody of it to me, I read it in one night, and fell in love with the series (and, sadly for those people who hate him, with Snape!) My brother then went on to purchase all the remaining five books, which I was forced to wait to read until he had done so first. However, after probably two months, we had both finished all the books that are out today, and we were both obsessed. Not too long later, I began on my own project--writing my version of book seven. I still am working on this, and I am a good two hundred pages into "Harry Potter and the Mistaken Identity." I know it is not to be compared in the slightest degree to J.K. Rowlings, but so far it is tolerably good.

Don't forget:

DO NOT FORGET:

Snape died before he got a job at Hogwarts. Gary, an American, began to train as a wizard at age 6 in America in a war-time Honours program that enabled him to become a fully-qualified wizard by age 13. His parents were killed by a group of American Death-Eaters, and he came to Britan, expecting to find his great Uncle. He has no name, no other information about him, and just has an address--12 Grimmauld place. He arrives there, eventually, and witnesses a horrible scene, where Snape, at that time a spy for Dumbledore, commits suicide in front of Gary, because he doesn't have the moral stamina for being a spy. He lost it all when Celeste Montgomery died at the hands of Lucius Malfoy. So he went to Sirius's house, just because it's handy. Before he kills himself, though, he pulls all his memories out of his brain and bottles them, so that someone can go though them and take on his part using the Polyjuice potion. He also writes a letter of explanation. The last thing he does before cutting his wrists and bleeding to death is utter a distress call to Dumbledore. When Dumbledore came to the scene, too late to revive the dead man, he discovered Gary hiding, then in a stroke of genius, Dumbledore figures out that Gary is his great-nephew. Dumbledore is left in a precarious position; his spy is dead, and as no way to get inside info from Voldemort. They come up with the idea of Gary taking Polyjuice potion and living as Snape. So they shave his head, cut his nails, and obtain every possible sample of Snape they can, and stow them. They hasten to rid of Snape's body, which they transform into a black rock.

Rhonda Quince's hard times--after Rhonda moved to America, she, her husband, and later Tam, lived in a house next to the De Rhone's. A group of American Death Eaters killed both Mr. and Mrs. De Rhone, but forgot about young Gary, who was at school. He was about 10. Tam was almost one about then. When he came home to find them dead, Rhonda came and explained everything to him, and took him in. She and her husband raised him as their own son. However, her husband worked for the American magic government, and was killed by more Death Eaters three years after the De Rhone family died. Rhonda was too distraught to care for the kids anymore, so she sent Tam to stay at the Weasleys' for a while, and Gary to go looking for his great-uncle, who no one knew the identity of, and only knew of his existence through one of Mrs. De Rhone's old letters. There mentioned no way to find him, except that he had friends at 12 Grimmauld place. So Gary went off in search of him. After he lost all his money to some robbers, he had to live as a vagrant, looking for 12 Grimmauld place. Finally, he found it. _See paragraph above now. _

Horocruxes:

1. Gryffindor's shield --Weasley's attic

2. Helga's Cup X

3. Ravenclaw's book-- Mrs. Snape has Ravenclaw's book. Real Snape once had taken it from her and returned it the next morning, with Voldemort's holocrux in it. Then Voldemort wanted it back, so he broke into her house while she was at her publishers', but she had brought the book with her, to use as a visual aid, since it had been the inspiration for her novel that she was submitting that day. So Voldemort couldn't find it, and killed the man who told him the book was there, thus explaining the blood. When Mrs. Snape returned to find her house in disarray, she fled to the mountains. (With all her pickled ham) It had been assumed the Death Eaters had killed her, and that was the end of that. However, when 'her son' tried to kill himself, (all part of the plan to find her) she came to Hogwarts, and learned from Dumbledore what had really happened to Severus. Then she gives them the book, and they destroy it.

4. Slytherin Locket (pending)

5. Slytherin Ring X

6. Diary X

7. Himself

(no Nagini)

Sorry, that's all just a note to moi.

Loose ends--need ideas, all ideas considered fairly and your ideas are probably better than mine, so just tell me if you've got an idea….

Sylvia, her child, her husband…

Dumbledore's hand…

Sylvia needs quick cash?

who is R.A.B.? Black's brother? just made up ruse for Harry?

House elves

Hermione's a werewolf?

what to do with Grawp?

_

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_

Indifferent? Review.

Hate it? Still review.

Love it? Especially review. 

_Main point: REVIEW PLEASE! _


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